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diff --git a/old/64930-0.txt b/old/64930-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9f9f12a..0000000 --- a/old/64930-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8432 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Goddess: A Demon, by Richard Marsh - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Goddess: A Demon - -Author: Richard Marsh - -Release Date: March 26, 2021 [eBook #64930] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer. - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GODDESS: A DEMON *** - - - - - The Goddess - A Demon - - By Richard Marsh - _Author of_ - “_In Full Cry_,” “_The Beetle: A Mystery_,” “_Marvels and - Mysteries_,” “_Ada Vernham, Actress_,” &_c_. - - London: - F. V. White & Co. - 14, Bedford Street, Strand, W.C. - 1900 - - - - - CONTENTS - - I. A Vision of the Night - II. The Woman who came through the Window - III. The Conquest of Mrs. Peddar - IV. Dr. Hume - V. A Curious Case - VI. The Doctor accuses - VII. The Suspicions of Mr. Morley - VIII. The Recognition of the Photograph - IX. The Revelations of “Mr. George Withers” - X. Where Miss Moore was going - XI. In the one Room--and the other - XII. What was on the Bed - XIII. She and I - XIV. He and I - XV. The Letter - XVI. My Persuasive Manner - XVII. My Unpersuasive Manner - XVIII. I am called - XIX. I leave the Court - XX. A Journey to Nowhere - XXI. A Check at the Start - XXII. A Miracle - XXIII. In the Passage - XXIV. In the Room - XXV. The Goddess - XXVI. The Legacy of the Scarlet Hands - - - - - The Goddess - - - - - CHAPTER I. - A VISION OF THE NIGHT - -I was sure that I had seen Edwin Lawrence juggle with the pack. As I -lay there wide awake in bed it all came back to me. I wondered how I -could have been such an unspeakable idiot. We had dined together at -the Trocadero; then we had gone on to the Empire. The big music hall -was packed with people, the heat was insufferable. - -“Let’s get out of this,” suggested Lawrence, almost as soon as we were -in. “This crush, in this atmosphere, is not to be borne.” I agreed -with him. We left. “Come into my place for an hour,” he said. - -We both lived in Imperial Mansions, on the same floor. His number was -64, mine was 79. You went out of his door, along the passage, round -the corner to the right--the second door on the right was mine. I went -in with him. - -“What do you say to a little gamble?” he asked. “It will be better -than nothing.” - -I agreed. We had a little gamble--at first for trivial stakes. I am an -abstemious man. I had already drunk more than I was accustomed to. At -his invitation I drank still more. We increased the stakes. I really -do not know from whom the suggestion came, I know that I did not -object. I had lost all my ready money. I kept on losing. He was -dotting down, on a piece of paper, the extent of my indebtedness. -Presently, when he announced the sum total, I was amazed to learn that -it was very much more than I imagined--actually nearly a thousand -pounds. On the instant I was wide awake. - -“Nine hundred and forty pounds, Lawrence! It can’t be as much as -that!” - -“My dear chap, here are the figures; look for yourself.” - -He handed me the piece of paper. His manner of arranging the several -amounts I found more than a little vague, but as I had been so foolish -as not to have kept count of them myself, I was hardly in a position -to dispute their accuracy; and, added together, they certainly did -come to the sum he stated. Still I felt persuaded that there was a -mistake somewhere, though in what it consisted I was unable at the -moment to perceive. - -“Look here,” he said. “Be a sportsman for once in your life! I’ll give -you a chance--I’ll cut you double or quits.” - -I did not want to. I would have very much rather not. Gambling on such -a scale was altogether out of my way. But he urged me, and I yielded; -I don’t know why. I must have been very much more under the influence -of drink than I imagined. We cut. I cut first--the knave of diamonds. -As it was to be highest, not a bad card. I watched him as he cut, and -saw that he dropped at least one card from the lot which he picked up; -and that after he had had an opportunity of getting a shrewd guess at -its value. The card which he faced was the queen of diamonds, -exclaiming as he did so: - -“That does you!” - -“But that was not the card which you originally cut--you dropped one.” - -“I dropped one! What do you mean? I have not the slightest notion of -having done anything of the kind, and, anyhow, it must have been by -the sheerest accident. What are you looking at me like that for? Don’t -lose your temper because you happen to have lost.” - -The insinuation was as gratuitous as it was uncalled for. There was -not the slightest danger of my losing my temper; but that I was right -in what I had said I felt assured. But then the card might have been -dropped by accident, and he might not have noticed what had happened. -And, anyhow, in face of the fact that I had been with the man on terms -of intimacy, and had never before had cause to suspect him of anything -in the least dishonourable, having regard to his explicit denial, it -was a delicate position to persist in. I got up from my chair, -conceding the point. - -“That makes eighteen hundred and eighty pounds you owe me. My -sympathy, Ferguson; better luck next time.” - -I mentally resolved that I would not play cards again with Edwin -Lawrence--at any rate, when we two were alone. - -I was in a curious state of mind when I returned to my own chambers. -The events of the evening buzzed in my head. It was not the money -merely. Though I am very far from being a millionaire, and two -thousand pounds, less one hundred and twenty, is not a sum to be -lightly thrown away. The inquiry kept knocking at my brain--was the -man whom already I was beginning to regard as a friend such a very -poor creature after all? Was it possible that he had wilfully -manipulated those figures to his own advantage, and, with intention, -dropped that card? The more closely I followed the events of the -evening, the less I liked the conclusion to which they led me. - -When I went to bed my thoughts went with me. I could not shake them -off. I tossed and tumbled in pursuit of sleep. And when, at last, -slumber did come, my sleeping experiences were even more disturbing -than my waking ones had been. - -My repose is generally untroubled. I seldom am visited by dreams. But -that night I had a most extraordinary dream; so extraordinary that I -am haunted by it to this day, even in my waking hours. In appearance -of reality it was little less than supernatural. Indeed, I do not mind -admitting that I have been, and still am, at a loss to determine -whether I was not--at least in part--an actual, sentient spectator, -and not merely the subject of a vision of the night. - -Of course, I am unable to say how long I had been to sleep, but it -seemed to me that I had only just closed my eyes, when something, I -knew not what, caused me to sit up in bed; and not only to sit up, but -to get out of bed. I have no recollection of putting anything on in -the shape of clothes; I am certain that I did not switch on the -electric light, I had a clear consciousness of the prevailing -darkness. And, in the darkness, I had an uncontrollable impulse to go -to Lawrence. I left the room, to the best of my belief, clad only in -my pyjamas. In the passage was a light--it is kept burning all -night,--and I distinctly remember noticing that it was burning as I -passed along. Reaching Lawrence’s door, I tapped at the panel. There -was no answer. I hesitated before knocking again; and, as I did so, -immediately became aware of a strange noise which proceeded from -within. - -A stranger noise I never heard. I experience a difficulty in -describing it. It was as if some wild beast was inside the room, and -was beside itself with fury. Yelling, snarling, screeching--a horrid, -gasping noise--these sounds seemed to follow hard upon each other. -And, mingled with them, were faint cries as of some one in extremity -of both pain and terror. At that sound I ceased to hesitate. I turned -the handle. I stepped inside. The sight I saw I am not likely to -forget. - -Lawrence was struggling frantically with some strange creature whose -character I was not able to distinguish. From this creature proceeded -those hideous sounds. It was a mass of whirling movement. I had never -seen a being so instinct with frenzied action. Every part seemed to be -in motion at once; and with its whole force it was assailing Lawrence. -He seemed to be offering a feeble resistance, as, hauled this way and -that, he staggered to and fro. - -But, against such an attack, his efforts were vain. Presently he fell -headlong to the floor. The creature, stooping, rained on to his -motionless body a hail of blows, making all the time that horrid, -gasping noise, and then was still. - -I had been conscious all the time that there was something about the -creature which was terribly human. It appeared to be covered with a -flowing robe of some shining, silken stuff, whose voluminous skirts -whirled hither and thither as it writhed and twisted. Now that it -became motionless there broke on my ears the sound of a woman’s -laughter. - -I am not a nervous subject. Nor am I, I believe, a physical coward. -But I am compelled to own that, instead of attempting to interfere, or -offering the assistance which I had only too good reason to suppose -was urgently needed, at the sound of the laughter, like some -frightened cur, I turned and fled. And not the least strange part of -the whole business was that, as it seemed, immediately after, I woke -up. Woke to find that, however it might appear to the contrary, I -certainly had been asleep, for I was sitting up in bed covered with -sweat and trembling in every limb. - -I looked about me. The blind was up before the long French window. I -remember drawing it up, as was my usual habit, before I got into bed. -The moon was shining through. All at once a sound caught my anxious -ear. I started forward to learn from whence it came. From the window! -I stared with all my eyes. I was wide awake now, of that there could -be no sort of doubt whatever. In the moonlight I could see that some -one was standing on the other side of the pane--a faint, mysterious -figure. The latch was raised; it was a little rusty, I could hear it -creaking. The window was pushed open, as by an unaccustomed hand, with -something of a jerk. Out of the moonbeams, like some spectral -visitant, a woman stepped into the room. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - THE WOMAN WHO CAME THROUGH THE WINDOW - -I held my breath, staring in amazement. The figure was real, that -was obvious. And yet, how could a woman have gained my window from -without? Where had she come from at that hour of the night? What did -she want, now that she was here? - -A vague wonder passed through my mind as to whether her object might -not be felony. She had left the window open--I could feel the cool -night-air--and stood inside it, as if listening. Was she endeavouring -to discover if her entrance had been discovered? She had but to use -her eyes, and look straight in front of her, to see me sitting up in -bed, staring. I was as visible as she was. So far as I could judge she -remained motionless, looking neither to right nor left. Presently she -sighed, as some tired child might do, a long-drawn sigh, as if the -action brought relief to her breast. Then I was persuaded that she was -at any rate no thief--there was something in the sound of that -sustained respiration which was incompatible with the notion of a -feminine burglar. - -She came a little forward into the room, doubtfully, as if uncertain -of her surroundings. She stumbled against a chair, the contact seeming -to startle her. I saw her put her hand up to her head, with the -gesture of one who was trying to collect her thoughts. - -“I can’t think where I am.” - -The words broke the silence in the oddest manner. The voice was sweet, -soft, clear--unmistakably a lady’s. It thrilled me strangely. Nothing -which had gone before had disconcerted me so much--it was an utterance -of such extreme simplicity. Was it possible that the lady was a -somnambulist, who, held in the thraldom of that curious disease, had -woke to find herself in a stranger’s bedroom? If that was the case, -what was I to do? How could I explain the situation, without unduly -startling her? - -The question was answered for me. I must unconsciously have fidgeted. -All at once her face was turned towards me. She exclaimed: - -“Who’s that?” - -I arrived at an instant resolution--replying with the most -matter-of-fact air of which I was capable. - -“Do not be alarmed--it is I, John Ferguson. If you will allow me, I -will turn on the light, so that we may see each other better.” - -I switched on the electric light. What it revealed again amazed me -into speechlessness. At the foot of my bed stood the most beautiful -woman I had ever seen; I thought so in that first astounded moment--I -think so still. She was tall and she was slight. She looked at me out -of the biggest and the sweetest pair of eyes I ever saw. But there was -something in them which I did not understand. It was not only -bewilderment, it was as if she was looking at the world out of a -dream. She regarded me, as I sat, with my touzled head of hair, not, -as I had feared, with signs of agitation and alarm, but rather with a -curious sort of wonderment. - -“I don’t know who you are. Where am I? Have I ever seen you before?” - -It was spoken as a child might speak, with a little tremulous -intonation, as if she were on the verge of tears. - -“I don’t think you have. But don’t be alarmed--you are quite safe. I -think you have been walking in your sleep.” - -“Walking in my sleep?” - -“I fancy you must have been.” - -“But--do I walk in my sleep?” - -In spite of myself, I smiled at the simplicity of the inquiry. - -“That is a matter on which you should know more than I do.” - -“But--where can I have walked from?” - -“That also is a question to which you should be able to supply an -answer. Do you live in the Mansions?” - -“The Mansions?” - -“These are the Imperial Mansions. Is your home here?” - -“My home?” She shook her head solemnly. “I don’t know where my home -is.” - -“Not know? But you must know where your home is. Who are you? What is -your name?” - -“I don’t know who I am or what is my name.” - -Was she an imbecile? She did not look it. I never saw intellect more -clearly marked upon a woman’s face. But the more attentively I -regarded her the more distinctly I began to realise that there was -something peculiar in her expression. She seemed mazed, as if she had -recently been roused from sleep and had not yet had time to acquire -consciousness of her surroundings. My original surmise was correct; -she had been walking in her sleep, and had not yet recovered -sufficient consciousness to enable her to recognise the actualities of -existence, and comprehend what it was she had been doing. - -While I told myself this I had never removed my glance from off her. -And now my gaze fastened on something which had for me a dreadful -fascination. - -She was covered from head to foot in a voluminous garment, which set -off her face and figure to perfection. I took it to be some sort of -opera-cloak, though, more than anything else, it resembled a domino -buttoned down the front. It was made of some bright plum-coloured -material, which I afterwards learned was alpaca. A hood, which was -attached to the garment, was half off, half on, her dainty head. The -whole affair, cloak and hood, was lined with green silk. The front of -the cloak was decorated with voluminous green ribbons; one of these -caught my eye. It was a broad sash-ribbon, some six or eight inches -wide, reaching from her neck almost to her toes. - -For quite half its length the vivid green was obscured by what seemed -to be a stain of another colour. The stain was apparently of such -recent occurrence that the ribbon was still sopping wet. But it was -not the broad ribbon only which was stained; I perceived that, here -and there, the bright hues of the knots of narrower ribbon were also -dimmed. More, there were splashes on the cloak itself. She had her -hand up to her head. I glanced at it. How could the fact have -previously escaped my notice? There were stains upon her uplifted -hand, and upon the other hand which dangled loosely at her side. They -were half covered with something red--and wet. - -All at once there came back to me the extraordinary vision I had had -of the strange happening in Lawrence’s room. I recalled the frenzied -figure, clad in the woman’s robe, with the whirling skirts. Woman’s -robe? Why, here it was in front of me, upon this woman, the very robe -which I had seen. And here, too, now sufficiently quiescent, were the -whirling skirts. I put my hand up to my eyes to shut out the horrid -thought which seemed to rush at me; and I cried-- - -“Tell me who you are, and from where you come!” - -There was silence. I repeated my inquiry. She answered with another. - -“Why do you speak so strangely? And why do you put your hand before -your eyes?” - -The mere sound of her speaking soothed me. To my mind, one of the -greatest charms of a woman should be her voice. Never did I hear a -more comfortable voice than hers. It was impossible to imagine that a -voice in which, to my ears, rang so unmistakably the accents of truth, -could belong to one who was false. Removing my hands, I looked at her -again. - -She had smeared her countenance with her fingers; all down one side of -her face was a crimson stain. - -“Look,” I cried, “at what you’ve done!” - -“What have I done?” - -“What’s on your hands?” - -“My hands? What is on my hands?” - -She held out her hands in front of her, staring at them with the most -innocent air in the world. - -“It’s blood.” - -“Blood? Where has it come from?” - -She asked the question as a child might do. In spite of her -blood-stained face, the ring of truth which was in her voice, the -unspoken appeal which was in her eyes, went to my heart. - -“Try to think where you’ve come from, and what you have been doing?” - -“Think? I can’t think.” - -“But you must! Don’t you see you’re all covered with blood?” - -“All covered with blood? Why, so I am! Oh!” - -She gave a little cry which was more than half a sob. She swayed to -and fro. Before I could reach her she had fallen to the ground. I -found her lying as if she were dead. She had swooned. - -This was a pretty plight which I was in. I have had but little -experience of feminine society. My life, for the most part, has been -lived in places where women are not. I knew as little of them as of -the cuneiform character--perhaps less. I, of course, had heard of -women fainting, but never before had I seen one in such a pitiful -predicament. What was I to do? I thought of Mrs. Peddar. She was the -housekeeper at the Mansions--an excellent woman. Everything under her -rule went by clockwork: she had been of more assistance to me in -various matters than I had supposed that a person in her position -could have been. But I scarcely felt that this was a case in which her -interference might be altogether desirable. - -As I looked at the lovely creature lying there so still, I felt this -more and more. Her utter helplessness filled me with a curious sense -of pity. A resolve was growing up within me to constitute myself her -champion, if she would only avail herself of my services, in whatever -circumstances of doubt and danger she might find herself. If she had -something to conceal, by no action of mine should it be blazed to the -world. Without her express sanction, neither Mrs. Peddar nor any one -else, should be informed of her presence there. Yet how was I to -restore her to consciousness? - -While I hesitated I perceived that something was lying beside her on -the floor. Where it had come from I could not tell; it was hardly the -kind of thing to have fallen from a woman’s pocket. I picked it up. It -was a photograph of Edwin Lawrence; I could not help but recognise the -likeness directly I raised it. Back and front it was smeared with -blood. Actuated by an impulse for which I did not attempt to account, -rising, I thrust it between the leaves of a book which was on the -mantelshelf. She moved. Turning, I found that she had raised herself a -little, and was looking at me with her eyes wide open. - -“What is the matter with me? Have I been asleep?” - -Her frank, fearless gaze, with, in it, that strange look of -bewilderment, filled me with a sudden sense of confusion. I stammered -a reply. - -“You have not been very well. But you are better now. Let me help you -to get up.” - -I held out my hand. Putting hers into it, she rose to her feet with a -little spring. When she took her hand away, on mine there was a ruddy -smirch. The condition of her plum-coloured garment, and of the bright -green ribbons, seemed to have become more conspicuous even than -before. - -“Hadn’t you better take off your cloak?” - -She looked at me as if amazed. - -“Take off my cloak? Why should I?” - -“You will be more comfortable without it.” - -“Do you think so? Then of course I’ll take it off.” - -She removed her cloak, with my assistance. I flung it over the back of -a chair. - -“You will find water there with which to wash your hands and face.” - -Again she eyed me with that suggestion of surprise. - -“Why should I wash my hands and face?” - -“There is blood upon them.” - -“Blood?” She held out her hands with her former gesture. “So there is. -I had forgotten. I cannot think how it came there.” Her cheeks assumed -an added tinge of pallor. “Will it come off if I wash them?” - -It seemed impossible to doubt that it was seriously asked; yet the -apparent puerility of the question stung me to a brusque response. - -“We will hope that soap and water will at least, remove the outward -and visible stain.” - -Turning, I went into my dressing-room, she following me with her eyes. -There I hastily donned some more conventional attire. Thence, passing -into the dining-room, I called to her through the bedroom door. - -“When you are ready, may I ask you to come in here. We shall be more -at our ease.” - -She did not keep me waiting, but appeared upon the instant, coming -towards me holding out her hands as a child might do. - -“I’m clean now. Aren’t I clean?” - -Her close propinquity filled with me wholly unreasonable agitation. I -drew back. The removal of the cloak had disclosed a dark blue silk -dress which fitted her, to my thinking, with the most marvellous -perfection. There was a touch of white about her neck and wrists. Her -beauty struck me more even than at first--it awed me. Yet at the back -of my mind was born a dim fancy that somewhere in the flesh I had seen -this enchanting vision before. I was at a loss as to the words with -which I ought to address her, speaking at last, blunderingly enough. - -“Have you any reason why you should wish to conceal your name?” She -shook her head. “Then tell me what it is.” - -“But I don’t know. Have I a name?” - -“I presume that, with the rest of the world, you have. Pray do not -suppose, however, that I wish to force myself into your confidence. I -would only suggest that I think it might be better, for both our -sakes, if you could give me some idea of where you came from before -you entered my room.” - -“Did I enter your room? Oh yes, I remember; but--I don’t remember -anything more.” She put her hand up to her head with the gesture which -had previously struck me. “Where did I come from?” - -“I don’t know if you are intentionally trifling, but if you are unable -to supply the information, I certainly cannot.” - -Something in my manner seemed to occasion her distress. She moved -towards me anxiously, like a timid child who stands in fear of -admonition. - -“Why do you look like that? Are you angry?” - -I knew not what to think or what to feel; but, at least, I was not -angry. If she was playing a part, which I for one was disposed to -doubt, she acted with such plausibility that I was conscious of my -incapacity to discover in what the trick consisted. I perceived that, -after all, this was a case for Mrs. Peddar. - -“The housekeeper is a most superior person--a Mrs. Peddar. She will be -of more assistance to you than I can be. Will you allow me to tell her -that you are here?” - -“Why not? Of course you can tell her--if you like.” - -This was said with such an air of innocence, and with such an entire -absence of suspicion that there could be anything dubious in her -position, that I myself was conscious of a sense of shame at the -thoughts which filled my mind. I moved towards the door. She stopped -me. - -“Who are you going to tell?” - -“The housekeeper--Mrs. Peddar.” - -“Oh.” This was with a little touch of doubt. “She’s a woman. You’re a -man. I’m a woman.” She said this with the utmost gravity, as if she -were giving utterance to portentous facts which she had just -discovered. She seemed to shiver. “Is she--nice? Will she--be kind to -me?” - -I registered a mental vow that she should be kind to her, or I would -know the reason why; I said as much, though with less emphasis of -language. Then I left the room. - -But, before I actually went in search of Mrs. Peddar I returned into -the bedroom, through the door which opened out of the passage. Using -that plum-coloured cloak with scant ceremony, I rolled it up into a -bundle and thrust it into a wardrobe behind a heap of clothes. Then, -opening the window, I stood on the balcony and threw the water in -which my visitor had washed her hands and face, as far as I could out -into the street. I heard it fall with a splash on to the road below. - - - - - CHAPTER III. - THE CONQUEST OF MRS. PEDDAR - -Mrs. Peddar has her rooms at the top of the building--on the seventh -floor. The lift runs all night. It had been my intention, rather than -summon it and attract the attention of the porter, to have climbed the -endless flights of stairs; but, as luck had it, when I reached the -staircase the lift was setting some one down. Since it was there I -thought I might as well use it, to save time, and also my legs. I -stepped inside. - -“Up or down, sir?” - -“I am going up to Mrs. Peddar.” - -The porter favoured me with a doubtful glance. - -“Mrs. Peddar lives at the top of the building. She’s in bed long ago.” - -“So I suppose. I’m afraid, however, that I shall have to wake her up -again, as I am in urgent need of her assistance.” - -“Anything wrong, sir?” - -“No. At least nothing in which you could be of service.” - -As we mounted I could see that Turner--the night porter’s name is -Turner--was wondering what possible business I could have with Mrs. -Peddar that I should rouse her out of her warm bed at that hour of the -night. It occurred to me to ask him a question or two. - -“Has a lady come up lately?” - -“Up where?” - -“Up to the first floor--or anywhere?” He shook his head. “You’re -sure?” - -“Certain. No lady’s come into this building for a good two hours, at -any rate. The last was Mrs. Sabin; she and her husband’s on the fourth -floor. They’ve been to the Gaiety Theatre: I took ’em up in the lift. -She was the last lady as came in, and that was just after eleven.” - -His words set me thinking. If my visitor had not come in through the -doorway, how then had she gained access to my balcony, which is on the -first floor, and between twenty and thirty feet above the ground. -Turner volunteered a statement on his own account. - -“And the last man who went out was Mr. Lawrence’s brother.” - -I pricked up my ears at this. - -“Mr. Lawrence’s brother? Oh.” - -“Yes--Mr. Philip, I think his name is. He came down not three minutes -before I saw you, just as I was going to take up Mr. Maynard--that was -Mr. Maynard who got out as you got in. He seemed to be in a big hurry. -I said good night as he went past, but he said nothing. He had a big -parcel in his arms, almost as much as he could carry.” - -“You are sure it was Mr. Lawrence’s brother?” - -“It was him right enough. My cousin’s his coachman--I ought to know -him.” - -“You say he came down three minutes ago?” - -“Not three minutes ago, I said.” - -Then, in that case, he must have been with his brother some time after -my visitor had come to me. The knowledge occasioned me distinct -relief. - -Turner continued: - -“He went up about an hour ago: perhaps a little more. He’d got no -parcel then. I stared when I saw he’d got one when he came back. I -shouldn’t have thought he was the kind to carry a parcel, and -especially such a one. I’d have called him a cab if he’d given me a -chance, but I was just starting with Mr. Maynard, and he was off like -a shot. Shall I wait for you, sir? The first door round the corner is -Mrs. Peddar’s.” - -I told him not to wait, feeling conscious that it might take me some -time to explain to Mrs. Peddar what I desired of her. The lady must -have been a light sleeper. Hardly had I saluted the panel of the door -with my knuckles than a voice inquired who was there. When I informed -her she made a prompt appearance in her dressing-gown. - -“You, Mr. Ferguson! What do you want at this hour of the night?” - -I immediately became conscious that it might be even more difficult to -explain than I had supposed. - -“I have a visitor downstairs, Mrs. Peddar.” - -“A visitor? Well? What has that to do with me? You can’t have anything -to eat at this time of night.” - -She said that, I take it, because in the Mansions meals are provided -for residents, and she supposed that I had dragged her out of bed at -that unholy hour in search of food. - -“The visitor is a lady, and I wanted to know if you could give her a -bed somewhere to-night.” - -“A bed? Who is the lady?” - -“Well--the fact is, Mrs. Peddar, something very remarkable has taken -place. I’ve come up to tell you all about it, and to ask your advice.” - -“You had better come in.” - -I went into her sitting-room, she, with an eye for the proprieties, -leaving the door discreetly open. There was that in her bearing which -made me wonder if she suspected me of having been guilty of some act -of rakish impropriety, unworthy of my age and character. I was -conscious that the course in front of me was not all smooth sailing. - -“A young lady, Mrs. Peddar, has just entered my room through the -window.” - -“Through the window! Mr. Ferguson! At this hour!” - -“I’m afraid the poor thing is not quite right in her mind.” - -“I should think not. That is the best thing you can hope of her.” - -“She is quite a lady.” - -“Lady!” Mrs. Peddar tightened her lips. “Mr. Ferguson, are you -laughing at me, sir?” - -“I assure you I am perfectly serious; and I give you my word she is a -lady. You have only to see her for yourself to find that. Wait a -minute--let me finish! I thought at first that she was a somnambulist; -that she had been walking in her sleep; and I am still of opinion that -something strange has happened to her. She is unable to tell me her -name, who she is, whence she comes, or anything about herself; she -seemed as if she were mazed.” - -“Has she been drinking?” - -“Come downstairs and speak to her; you will perceive for yourself that -to connect her with such a notion would be worse than impertinence.” - -“No offence, sir, but when you tell me that a strange young woman -comes through your window in the middle of the night, I can’t help -having my own thoughts.” - -“And I tell you, Mrs. Peddar, that the ‘strange young woman,’ as you -call her, is a lady in every sense of the word, to whom, I am -persuaded, something very serious has recently happened.” - -“Very good, Mr. Ferguson. I’m afraid that you’re too soft-hearted, -sir. Where is this young lady now?” - -“She is in my dining-room.” - -“Alone?” - -“Certainly she is alone.” - -“Then I should not be surprised if, by now, she’s gone back through -the window, taking something with her to help keep you in mind. You -must excuse my saying that I don’t think I ever did know quite so -simple-minded a gentleman as you are, sir. One thing’s sure--if we do -want to find her we’d better hurry for all we’re worth.” - -Urged by Mrs. Peddar I hastened with her down the stairs. But her -forecast was not realised. My visitor had not gone. She was still in -the dining-room, fast asleep in an armchair. The first thing which -saluted our ears, as we entered the room, was the sound of her gentle -breathing; she slept softly as a child. The sight which she presented -touched the housekeeper’s womanly heart. - -“She does look a picture, that’s certain! And quite the lady! And -isn’t she prettily dressed! My word, what lovely rings!” - -The girl’s hands were extended on her lap. I saw that on her fingers -were what seemed to be two or three valuable rings. Now that Mrs. -Peddar had started, her enthusiasm almost equalled mine. - -“How pale she is--and how beautiful! It’s plain that the poor thing’s -tired out and out. And you say that she came through the window! But -however did she get there? and who is she? and where did she come -from?” - -“As I have told you, I have put those questions to her already, -without success. As you can see for yourself, she appears to be worn -out by fatigue. I think that if you could give her a bed for -to-night--I, of course, will be responsible for all expenses--in the -morning we may be able to obtain from her all the information we -require.” - -“She shall have the bed all right, sir; I shouldn’t be surprised if -you’re right for once. She looks a lady; and, anyhow, I never could be -hard to any one so beautiful. But who’s to wake her? She is so sound -asleep, poor dear!” - -“I will wake her.” - -I did--by laying my hand gently on her shoulder. She moved, turned, -opened her eyes, and, when she saw who it was, sat upright in her -chair. - -“I’ve been asleep again; it seems as if my eyes would not keep open. -Where have you been? I thought you never would come back. It was so -quiet here, and this is such an easy chair, I had to go to sleep.” - -“I’ve been in search of Mrs. Peddar, of whom I told you. This is Mrs. -Peddar.” - -The girl turned to her with a radiant smile; my conviction is that -that smile won Mrs. Peddar’s heart right off. - -“Oh, Mrs. Peddar, I am so sleepy. I feel as if I wanted to sleep, -sleep, sleep. I can’t think what’s the matter.” - -Mrs. Peddar was regarding her with inquisitive looks, in which, -however, there was sympathy as well. - -“You’re tired, miss; that’s what the matter is with you. A good -night’s rest will do you good; you shall have it if you’ll come with -me, and as comfortable a bed as you ever slept in.” - -“You’ll be all right with Mrs. Peddar,” I said; for the girl seemed to -hesitate. “You could not be in safer keeping, or in kinder hands.” - -“Cannot I stay here?” - -I looked at Mrs. Peddar; Mrs. Peddar looked at me. It was she who -answered. - -“I think, miss, you will be more comfortable if you come with me. You -see, Mr. Ferguson lives alone.” - -“But where shall you be?” - -The anxious tone in which the girl put the question, and the appealing -gesture with which it was accompanied, afforded me an unreasonable -amount of pleasure. - -“I shall be here, not so very far away from you; and, the first thing -in the morning, I will come to learn how you have slept.” - -“You promise?” - -“I promise.” - -Never did I promise anything more willingly. - -She was still reluctant to go. To appease her I accompanied her -upstairs. When she reached Mrs. Peddar’s own apartment she was still -unwilling to suffer me to leave her, her unwillingness making me -absurdly happy. - -As I descended those interminable stairs it was as if I trod on air. -It was ridiculous. Why should I be affected, one way or the other, by -the whims, and airs, and fancies of an apparently half-witted woman, -who had forced her way into my room at dead of night in a cloak all -wet with blood. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - DR. HUME - -I was awoke next morning by Atkins bringing in my cup of coffee. He -asked me a question as he arranged it on the small table beside my -bed. - -“Do you know, sir, if Mr. Lawrence slept in his rooms last night?” - -He had aroused me from a dreamless slumber, and I was not yet -sufficiently awake to catch the full drift of his inquiry. - -“Slept in his rooms? What do you mean?” - -“Because, sir, when I took him his coffee just now, as usual, I -knocked four times and got no answer. And his door’s locked; it’s not -his habit to lock his door when he’s at home.” - -Atkins is one of the staff of servants attached to the Mansions, whose -particular office it is to wait on the occupants of chambers on the -first floor: a discreet man, who has a pretty intimate knowledge of -the manners and customs of those on whom he attends. - -“Mr. Lawrence was in his rooms last night. I was with him till rather -late, and I believe he had a visitor after I had left.” - -This I said remembering what Turner had told me about his brother -coming down the stairs, with the parcel in his arms. - -“I think he must be out now--at least, I can’t make him hear. And the -door’s locked; I never knew him have the door locked when he was in.” - -“Perhaps he’s ill,” I suggested. “I’ll slip along the balcony and see. -You wait here till I come back.” - -I do not know what induced me to make such a proposition, except that -I was struck by the man’s words, and impelled by a sudden impulse. On -every floor a balcony runs right round the building. Lawrence and I -had often made use of it to reach each other’s rooms--his are the -first set round the corner. I put on a pair of slippers and a -dressing-gown, and started. - -It was a chilly morning, with a touch of fog in the air, and it had -been raining. I made what haste I could. The window of Lawrence’s -dining-room opened directly I turned the handle. I went inside, and I -saw what I then instantly and clearly realised I had all along felt -sure that I should see. I sprang back upon the balcony. Atkins was -looking out of my window. I called to him. - -“Come here! Quick! There’s something wrong!” - -He came running to me. - -“What is it, sir?” - -“I don’t know what it is, but--it’s something.” - -Atkins followed me into the room. Edwin Lawrence lay face foremost on -the floor. All about him the carpet was stained with blood. His -clothes were soaked. Had it not been for his clothes I should not have -certainly known that it was Lawrence, because, when we turned him -over, we found that his face and head had been cut and hacked to -pieces. In my time I have seen men who have come to their death by -violence, but never had I seen such an extraordinary sight as he -presented. It was as if some savage thing, fastening upon him, had -torn him to pieces with tooth and nail. His flesh had been ripped and -rent so that not one recognisable feature was left. Indeed, it might -not have been a man we were looking upon, but some thing of horror. - -I spoke to Atkins. “Run and fetch Dr. Hume. I am afraid he will be of -little use, but he must come. And the police!” - -Off he sped to tell the ghastly tidings. So soon as he was gone I -looked about me. On a chair close by was a pair of white kid gloves--a -woman’s. I picked them up and put them in my pocket. Among the -portraits on the mantelshelf was the face of one I knew. I put that in -my pocket also with the gloves. - -The room was in some disarray, but not in such disorder as to suggest -that a desperate struggle had taken place. A chair or two and a table -were not in the places in which I knew they generally stood; the table -on which we had played that game of cards last night was pushed up -against another, on which were some copper vases. A revolving bookcase -had been driven up against the fireplace. On the woodwork were gouts -of blood. There was a blotch on the back of one of the books--a volume -of Rudyard Kipling’s “Many Inventions.” On the edge of the white stone -mantelpiece was the mark of where a hand had rested--a blood-stained -hand. Something lay on the carpet, perhaps two yards away from the -dead man’s feet. I took it up. It was a collar--a man’s -collar--shapeless and twisted and stiff with coagulated blood. As I -stared at it a wild wonder began to take shape and to grow in my -brain. - -“Ferguson, what’s the matter? What’s this Atkins tells me about? Good -God! is that Lawrence?” - -It was Dr. Hume who spoke. He had come into the room while I was -staring at the collar. - -Graham Hume is a man who has taken high medical honours; but, having -ample private means, he does not pretend to have anything in the shape -of a regular practice. He has a hobby--madness. He is a student of -what he calls obscure diseases of the brain; insisting that we have -all of us a screw loose somewhere, and that out of every countenance -insanity peeps--even though, as a rule, thank goodness, it is only the -shadow of a shade. - -Some strange stories are told of experiments which he has made. His -chambers are on the ground floor; and, though he has a plate on his -door, his patients are few and far between--nor are they by any means -always welcome even when they do appear. Probably the larger number of -them are residents in the Mansions, and because that was so, any one -living in the buildings being in sudden need of medical help used to -rush at once to him. Lawrence used to chaffingly speak of him as “the -Imperial Doctor.” - -Hume was still in the prime of life--perhaps forty, of medium height, -sparely built, with clean-shaven face, high forehead, and coal-black -hair. A good fellow, in his fashion; but with rather a too -professional outlook on to the world. I always felt that he regarded -every one with whom he came in contact--man, woman, or child--as a -possible subject for experiment. Personally, I was conscious of -feeling no dislike for him; but I had a sort of suspicion that he did -not like me. - -“Yes,” I replied; “that’s Lawrence--what’s left of him.” - -He was kneeling by the dead man on the floor, his usually impassive -face all alert and eager. - -“How has this happened--and when?” - -“That is what has to be discovered.” - -“Who found him?” - -“Atkins and I.” - -“Was he lying in this position?” - -“No; he was on his face. We turned him over.” - -“The man’s been cut to pieces.” - -“It almost looks to me as if he had been scratched to pieces.” - -“I fancy these wounds are too deep for scratches--in the ordinary -sense. It looks as if several narrow blades had been used, set in some -kind of frame, or a row of spikes. The flesh has been torn open in -regular layers. This is interesting--very.” This was the kind of -remark which I should have expected he would make; it came from him -sotto voce. “He’s been dead some time, he’s quite cold. Very curious -indeed.” - -While he spoke he had been unfastening, with deft fingers, the dead -man’s clothes, laying bare his neck and chest. Now he called to me, -with an accent of suspicion. - -“Look at that!” - -I looked. I saw that the body was almost as much disfigured as the -head and face; that it was covered with gaping wounds. - -“I see; enough violence has been used to kill the poor fellow a dozen -times over.” - -“Is that all you see?” Hume spoke with more than a touch of -impatience. “Don’t you see that some sharp-pointed instrument has been -thrust right through the man’s body, from the back to the front, and -from the front to the back, because he has been attacked from both -back and front? If, then, a knife, or something of the kind, has been -driven clean through him, as it has been, over and over again, how -came it to miss his shirt, his coat, the whole of his clothes?” - -“I don’t quite see what you mean.” - -“Then, in that case, my dear Ferguson, I am afraid that you are even -more dense than you usually are--which is unfortunate. If I were to -stab you where you stand, the stabbing instrument would have to pass -through your clothing, and, in doing so, would leave a mark of its -passage. One would expect to find this man’s clothing cut to pieces; -but you can see for yourself that, with the exception of bloodstains, -there is not a mark upon them; they are intact, without rent or tear. -Are we to infer that the attacking weapon did not pass through them? -In that case, was the man naked when he was attacked, and were his -clothes put on him after he was dead?” - -“I see, now, what you mean.” - -“I am glad of that; perhaps your mental faculties are beginning to -move. I suppose these clothes are Lawrence’s?” - -“I can prove that; he was wearing them when I saw him last.” - -“Oh, he was, was he. When did you see him last?” - -“Last night.” - -Hume glanced quickly up at me. - -“Last night? At what time?” - -I considered for a moment. - -“I don’t remember particularly noticing, but I should say that it was -about half-past eleven when I left him, or perhaps a little after.” - -“Half-past eleven? Then I should say that within an hour of that time -he was dead; perhaps within less than an hour. That’s very odd.” - -“Why is it odd?” - -“Was he alone when you left him?” - -“He was.” - -“Did you part on friendly terms?” - -The question took me somewhat aback; it was not one which it was easy -to answer. - -“May I ask why you inquire?” - -“My dear Ferguson, it is a question which some one will put to you. -You should be prepared with an answer. It seems rather unfortunate -that you should have quarrelled with him within an hour of his being -done to death.” - -“I did not quarrel with him.” - -“No? What did you do then? Your unwillingness to reply shows that it -was not on the best of terms you parted.” - -“I shall be ready to give all necessary information to any one -entitled to ask for it.” - -“So you are in a position to give information? I see? And you think I -am not entitled to ask? Oh! What, to your mind, would constitute a -title?--a magistrate’s warrant? You don’t happen to know if any one -saw him after you did?” - -“I believe that some one did.” - -Again he gave that quick glance upwards. - -“Who was it?” - -“I believe that his brother saw him.” - -“You believe! What makes you believe?” - -“I was told by Turner, the night-porter.” - -“When?” - -“Last night; or, rather, early this morning. I had occasion to use the -lift. Turner told me that he had seen Mr. Lawrence’s brother go up, -and that he had just come down again.” - -“What time was that?” - -“Between two and three.” - -“I fancy that before the clock struck two, or even one, this man was -dead.” - -“I found this on the floor just before you came in.” - -I handed Hume the blood-grimed collar. - -“What is it? A collar?” As he turned it over he saw what I had seen. -“Here’s a name--‘Philip Lawrence.’” - -“I believe that Philip is his brother’s name.” - -He looked at me with an unfriendly something in his glance. - -“What do you infer from that?” - -“I do not attempt to draw an inference.” - -“But your tone suggests. Do you suggest that when Philip Lawrence came -to see his brother he took off his collar and left it behind him on -the floor? Why?” - -“It must have been soaked with blood.” - -“Then you do suggest that Philip Lawrence left his collar behind -because it was soaked with blood.” - -“I suggest nothing. I say that I saw it on the floor and picked it up; -that’s all.” - -Hume stood up. - -“What else have you found?” - -I fenced with the question. I did not propose to speak of the gloves -or the photograph, being conscious that Hume was prepared to make -himself extremely disagreeable if occasion offered. - -“I have not looked. The collar lay staring at me on the floor; I could -not help but see it.” - -“Then we will look together. In such a case as this, one never knows -what ‘trifles light as air’ may prove ‘confirmation strong as Holy -Writ.’ Here’s a waste-paper basket; let’s see what’s in it. More than -one man has been sent to the gallows by a scrap of waste-paper. Here’s -what appears to be a letter--not too carefully written. Let’s see what -we can make of it. Hullo! what’s this?” He read from the scrap of -paper he was holding: “‘Such men as you ought not to be allowed to -live.’ That’s a strong assertion. And written by a woman, too, in a -good, bold hand. I think I should recognise that caligraphy if I saw -it again; wouldn’t you?” - -He handed me the fragment. The clear, characteristic writing was -certainly a woman’s. I felt that I should know it again if I saw it. -The words were as he had stated them. He went on. - -“If the intention of the person who tore up this letter was to conceal -its purport, he did his work with very little skill. Here’s another -fragment which is plain enough. ‘To-night I will give you a last -chance.’ To-night! I wonder if that was yesternight? If so he had his -last chance--his very last. Here, on still another piece, is part of a -signature. ‘Bessie.’ It certainly is Bessie. I know a Bessie.” He -smiled, not too pleasantly. “I wonder if--it’s scarcely likely, though -I shouldn’t be surprised if this turns out to be the work of feminine -fingers. I seem to scent a woman in it somewhere.” - -“It’s incredible!” I cried. “How could such violence have been used by -any woman?” - -“How do you know that much violence has been used?--though there are -women who are capable of as much violence as men. But, in this case, -so far, there is nothing to show that much strength has been exerted. -It is a question of what instrument has been employed. Obviously it is -one of a most extraordinary and most deadly kind, and one which I -should imagine would be as likely to be found in a woman’s possession -as a man’s; indeed, I should say more likely, because I should expect -to find a man preferring to trust to his own right hand. Let me tell -you this, Ferguson. You are making a serious mistake in endeavouring -to associate Philip Lawrence with this matter. I know him well. He is -a man of high position and noble character; as incapable of such a -deed as you. Indeed, I know him well enough to be aware that he is -incapable; I have not sufficient knowledge of you to say, with -certainty, of what you may be capable.” - -“Your language is quite unwarranted. I have made no endeavour of the -kind.” - -“Are you perfectly candid? Are you sure that there is nothing at the -back of your mind? My position here is quasi-official. It is my duty -to ascertain how this man came to his death. Yet, while you refuse to -answer my inquiries, questioning my right to make them, you volunteer -some tittle-tattle about Philip Lawrence, and produce, with something -very like a flourish of triumph, a collar with his name on, which, you -say, you found upon the floor. I warn you again that, if you attempt -to drag in Philip Lawrence’s name, you will be guilty of a serious -injustice, the consequences of which will inevitably recoil on your -own head.” - -“Listen to me, Hume, in your turn. In the first place, I don’t -understand why you show me such an aggressive front. And, anyhow, you -exaggerate the importance of your position. You merely happen to be -the first doctor of whom I could think. Your business is to make a -medical examination; so far, in that direction, I cannot say that I -have seen you make any undue exertions. To suggest that your office -is, in any sense, judicial, is sheer absurdity. We will stop at that. -Some men would have regarded the questions which you have put to me as -intentionally impertinent. I have enough acquaintance with you to know -that it is your unfortunate manner which is to blame, and that your -intention was innocuous. - -“But let me add this: I know nothing of Mr. Philip Lawrence; I have -never seen the man in my life. But, since he was seen to leave the -building at an early hour this morning, in a somewhat curious fashion, -exhibiting all the marks of haste; and since his brother has now been -found here lying dead, I think, in spite of your ardent championship, -he will be called upon to give some sort of explanation.” - -Why Hume behaved as he immediately did is beyond my comprehension. He -came close up to me, looking me full in the face, in distinctly -unfriendly fashion. - -“Then I say you lie.” - -He said it quietly--it is not his custom to speak loudly--but he said -it with unmistakable decision. While I was wondering whether or not I -should knock the fellow down, Atkins came in with a policeman at his -heels. It was time. - - - - - CHAPTER V. - A CURIOUS CASE - -I had only just returned to my own rooms when Mrs. Peddar appeared. - -“The young lady is up, sir, and wishes to see you, if it would be -quite convenient.” - -Her words, her tone, her manner, told me that the housekeeper had not -yet heard of what had happened to the occupant of No. 64. Atkins had -explained that he had experienced some difficulty in finding a -constable, and, apparently, had said nothing of his errand to any one -upon the way. The story of Edwin Lawrence’s ending had not yet been -told. I was not disposed to be the first to inform Mrs. Peddar. - -“How is the young lady?” I asked. - -“Well, sir, she seems all right, bodily, if I may say so, and she -certainly has slept sound, and looks better than ever; but that -there’s something the matter with her mind, I feel sure.” - -“Have you found out her name, or anything about her?” - -“No, sir, not a word. I looked at her linen when she was in bed, and -it’s marked ‘E.M.’” - -“‘E.M.’?” - -“Yes, sir, ‘E.M.’ And there’s a purse in her pocket with eighteen -shillings; but that’s all--no cards or anything. I was wondering if -you wouldn’t like Dr. Hume to see her. He’s a clever gentleman, and -might find out what’s wrong with her; because, as I’ve said, that -there’s something wrong I’m sure.” - -I turned my back, being unwilling to let the woman see how strongly -her reference to Hume had moved me. The idea that that man should have -an opportunity to play any of the pranks, which he pretended were -experiments, made in the interests of science, upon that helpless -girl, made my blood boil. - -“I don’t think we will trouble Dr. Hume just yet, Mrs. Peddar.” - -“Very good, sir. I don’t believe myself in doctors--not as a general -rule; it’s their bill they’re thinking of, and not you, most of the -time; but the young lady’s seems such a curious case, and Dr. Hume has -the reputation of being so clever, that I thought I’d just mention -it.” - -“It’s very kind of you, Mrs. Peddar. I cannot tell you how obliged I -am to you for the interest you are taking in the matter; but then I -know your good heart. Will you inform the young lady that I will come -to her as soon as I have finished dressing?” - -When I entered Mrs. Peddar’s rooms the girl was standing by the -window. As she turned to greet me I was positively startled by her -loveliness. It filled me with a curious sense of exhilaration. Her -face was illumined by that radiant smile which had struck me overnight -as being one of her most striking characteristics. She extended both -her hands. - -“So it’s you at last. I thought you were never coming.” - -“I have been detained, or I would have been here before. I hope you -slept well, and that Mrs. Peddar’s bed was as comfortable as she -predicted.” - -“Slept! I seem to have slept all my cares away. Do you know, I think -that something must have happened to me last night.” - -“What do you think it was?” - -“That’s just it--I can’t think. I wonder if anything’s the matter with -my head.” - -“Perhaps you had some kind of a shock; try to remember.” - -She shook her head. - -“I can’t remember. And yet--I don’t know. There’s something in my head -like a blot. It makes me feel so stupid.” - -“Can’t you even remember your name?” - -“No. I don’t believe I have a name. Yet I suppose I ought to have a -name, everybody does have a name; doesn’t everybody have a name?” - -She put this question with a little air of hesitation, as if she -propounded a doubtful proposition. - -“I should say so, as a general rule. It is rather an uncomfortable -position for a young lady to be in--not to know her own name, nor the -whereabouts of her home, nor who her friends are.” - -“Do you think so? Does it make me seem--silly?” She looked at me with -a wistful expression, like a puzzled child. “I seem to remember people -shouting; they were shouting at me. And clapping their hands--I can -see them clapping their hands; then something happened.” - -“Where were the people--and why did they shout at you?” - -“I can’t think. I believe it’s in my head somewhere, if I only knew -where to find it; but I don’t know where it is.” - -“Can’t you remember what happened to you, and where you were just -before you came to my room?” - -“I remember coming through your window; I remember that quite well.” A -faint flush came to her cheeks. “But that is all. Everything seems to -have begun then; nothing seems to have happened before.” - -I took a pair of white kid gloves out of my coat pocket. - -“Are these your gloves?” - -She eyed them askance. - -“I don’t know--are they? Where did you get them from?” - -I did not care to tell her that I found them on a chair in the room in -which Edwin Lawrence lay dead. - -“You should know better than I, if they are yours.” - -“They may be--I can’t tell. I’ll try them on and see if they fit.” She -did try them on, and they did fit--to perfection. She held out her -gloved hands. “They look as if they were mine--they must be; don’t you -think they are?” - -“I have not a doubt that they are yours.” - -I turned my face away. A weight had become suddenly attached to my -heart. There was a choking something in my throat. She was quick to -perceive the alteration in my demeanour. - -“Why do you turn your face away from me? Have I said or done anything -wrong? Aren’t the gloves mine?” - -I replied to her with another question. - -“Do you know any one named Lawrence?” - -“Lawrence? Lawrence? I can’t remember. Is it a woman’s name?” - -“No; it is not a woman’s name, it’s a man’s name. Edwin Lawrence.” - -“Why do you ask? Do you know him?” - -“I do; and so do you.” - -“I! How do you know I know him?” - -“Because, last night, it was from his room you came to mine.” - -I regarded her with what quite possibly were accusatory glances; but -if I expected my words to take her by surprise, or to cause her to -betray signs of guilt, I was mistaken. She met my glances with -serenely untroubled countenance, as if she were wondering what exactly -my meaning might chance to be. - -“I came to your room from his? What was I doing in his room?” - -“Think! Try to think! You must remember what happened in Edwin -Lawrence’s room to cause you to fly through his window, taking refuge -anyhow and anywhere.” - -“You say that I came from his room to yours; how did I come?” - -“Along the balcony. You must have rushed through his window straight -to mine; whether you tried other windows as you passed I cannot say. -Perhaps mine was the first which you found open.” - -“Then his room is in this house?” - -“Of course it is; it’s on the same floor as mine.” - -“Then take me to it--now! At once! If I were to see the room, and to -see Edwin Lawrence, it might all come back to me.” - -“Take you to see Edwin Lawrence?” - -“Yes; why not?” - -“Why should I not take you to see Edwin Lawrence? You know why!” - -I gripped her roughly by the wrist. She gave a cry of pain. I loosed -her, ashamed. She eyed me as if bewildered. - -“Why did you take hold of me like that? You hurt me.” - -“You should not play with me.” - -“Play with you? I was not playing. I only asked you to take me to see -this room, and this Edwin Lawrence, of whom you keep on speaking--that -was all.” - -“Yes, that was all.” - -“Why do you look at me like that. You make me afraid of you. I thought -you were my friend.” - -“How can I be your friend, to act a real friend’s part, if you will -not trust me?” - -“Trust you? Don’t I trust you? I thought I did.” - -She spoke like a child, and she was a lovely woman. I knew not what to -make of her, what to answer. I had a hundred things to say, which, -sooner or later, would have to be said. How was I to express them in -words which would reach her understanding? Was she, naturally, -mentally deficient? I could not believe it. Hers was not the face of -an imbecile. Intellect, intelligence was writ large in every line. -What then was the meaning of the cloud which had temporarily paralysed -the active forces of her brain? Where was the key to the puzzle? As I -hesitated she, coming closer, drawing up the sleeve of her dress, -showed me her wrist, on which were the marks of my fingers. - -“See how you have hurt me.” - -I was shocked; I had not supposed that I had used such force. - -“I did not mean to do it--I beg your pardon. But this morning I’m -afraid I am impatient; things have tried me.” - -“What things? Am I one of them? I am so sorry--please forgive me! I -want you to be my friend, and more than my friend. You see how I am -all alone.” - -“I see; I do see that.” - -The appeal which was in her eyes as they looked into mine stirred my -pulses strangely. I know not what wild words were trembling on my -lips; before they had a chance of getting spoken Mrs. Peddar put her -head through the door and called to me-- - -“Mr. Ferguson, can I speak to you for a minute, please?” - -I went to her at once. I perceived that the news had reached her. Her -first words showed it. - -“You have heard, sir, of the dreadful thing which has happened to Mr. -Lawrence?” - -“I have.” - -“From what I’m told”--we were in a small room which served her as a -sort of ante-chamber; she looked about her furtively, as if she feared -that walls had ears; the hand which she had laid upon my arm was -trembling--“from what I’m told it seems that it must have been done -just before the young lady--came--to your room.” - -“Such seems to be the case, from what I’m told.” - -“What shall we do?” - -“At present, nothing. ‘Sufficient,’ Mrs. Peddar, ‘unto the day is the -evil thereof.’” - -“Do you think she knows?” - -“Just now, I am sure that she does not.” - -She came closer, speaking almost in a whisper. Her lips were -twitching. I have seldom seen a woman so disturbed. - -“Do you think--she did it?” - -“Mrs. Peddar! I have not yet found the key to the puzzle; but I am -going to look for it, and I, or some one else, will find it soon. And -of this I am certain now, that that child--she’s little more than a -child in years, and, at present, she’s as helpless as any child could -be--has had, of her own initiative, no hand or finger in this matter; -she is as innocent, and as blameless, as you or I. She has suffered, -but she has not sinned.” - -“I hope so, I am sure.” - -“Your hope is on a safe foundation. There is one thing which you might -do--keep your own counsel. Don’t tell all the world that you have a -visitor; and, in particular, tell no one how that visitor came to -you.” - -“I’d rather she never had come. I--I’m beginning to wish that I’d -never taken her in.” - -“Don’t say that, Mrs. Peddar. You will find that it was not the worst -action of your life when you took that young girl, when she had just -escaped, by the very skin of her teeth, unless I am mistaken--from -things unspeakable, from the very gates of hell, under the shadow of -your wing.” - -Mrs. Peddar shook her head and she sighed. - -“Poor thing! Whatever happens, and I tremble when I think of what may -be going to happen to her and to us, and to every one--poor young -thing!” - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - THE DOCTOR ACCUSES - -I found it impossible to accept the conclusion to which it all -pointed. I had locked the door of my bedroom, gone to the wardrobe, -taken out that plum-coloured cloak. I had rolled it up as tightly as I -could; the blood with which it was soaked, as it dried, had glued the -folds together. I had difficulty in tearing it open. An undesirable -garment it finally appeared as I spread it out in front of me upon the -bed, discoloured, stiff as cardboard, creased with innumerable -creases. And the stiffness was horrible. When one reflected with what -it had been stiffened, and how, and when, and associated with the -reflection that fair-faced girl, with truth in her voice and innocence -in her eyes, one wondered. - -That she had been in Edwin Lawrence’s room at the very moment when the -murder was taking place seemed clear. What had been her errand? What -part had she played in the tragedy? Why, instead of giving an alarm, -had she sought refuge in flight? In the answer to this latter question -would, I felt persuaded, be found the key to the riddle. What she had -witnessed had acted on her like a bolt from heaven; the shock of it -had robbed her of her senses on the instant. With the scientific term -which would describe her condition I was not acquainted; it was some -sort of neurosis, involving, at least for the time, the entire loss of -memory. If she could only describe what she had witnessed, her -innocence would be established. - -Such was my personal conviction; but, at present, it was my conviction -only. The material evidence pointed the other way. Time pressed; -danger threatened. If facts, as they were known to me, became known to -others, an eager policeman, anxious to fasten guilt on some one, might -arrest her on a capital charge. Apart from the question of -contaminating hands, what might not be the effect, on one already in -so pitiful a condition, of so hideous an accusation. - -That she had witnessed something altogether out of the common way was -plain. This had been no ordinary murder; the work of no everyday -assassin. The presumption was that, taken wholly by surprise, she had -seen enacted in front of her some spectacle of supreme horror; so -close had she been standing as to have been actually drenched by the -victim’s blood. My vision--if it was a vision--might not have any -legal value, but it was full of suggestion for me; and the impression -was still strong upon me that some strange creature had been present -in the room, by which the crime had been actually committed. I -recalled Edgar Allan Poe’s story of “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” -in which the criminal was proved to have been a huge ape; but, though -I had no notion what the creature I had really seen was, I was -persuaded that it had had nothing in common with any member of the ape -family. - -In one respect my vision seemed to have fallen short. I had seen -Lawrence and his assailant; I had seen the whirling skirts--as, in -this connection, I gazed at the plum-coloured cloak, I was conscious -of an inward pang--I had heard the woman’s laughter; but, though I had -a clear recollection of looking around me, with a view of taking in -the entire scene, I had seen no one else. Yet all the evidence went to -show that, at any rate, two other persons had been present: my visitor -of the night before, and the dead man’s brother. - -I will admit at once that I had little belief in the brother’s guilt. -I had heard something of Philip Lawrence; and, apart from the known -integrity of the man’s character, I could not conceive of any cause -which could impel him to the commission of so unnatural a crime. -Still, there was Turner’s statement, quite unsuspiciously uttered, -that he had seen him go up to his brother, and seen him come down -again. As I had said to Hume, he would at least be called upon to -explain. - -But, as it seemed to me, what I had at present to ascertain was, what -had been the nature of the errand which had taken a young girl, at -that hour of the night, to Edwin Lawrence’s chambers. And, as it -chanced, I immediately came upon something which seemed to throw a -light upon the matter. Turning over the cloak, with a view of -returning it to its hiding-place--for I was aware that, at any moment, -I might be interrupted, and I was resolved, at least until I saw my -way more clearly, to keep the existence of so, apparently, criminatory -a garment a secret locked in my own breast--I came upon a pocket in -the green silk lining. There was something in it, which I took out. - -It was an addressed envelope. The writing I instantly recognised; I -had seen it on the scraps of paper which Hume had taken out of -Lawrence’s waste-paper basket. The envelope had been neither stamped -nor posted. The address--it could hardly have been vaguer--was “George -Withers, Esq., General Post-office, London.” Without hesitation I tore -the envelope open. I had reached a point at which I felt that, at any -and every cost, I must get out of the darkness into the light. - -The contents of the letter I give verbatim. - - -“Dear Tom, - -“I am going to see that scoundrel to-night. He had better take care, -or something will happen to him, of that I am sure. And he will be -sure before I have done with him. In any case, I’ll write you at -length to-morrow.” - - “B.” - - -Two points struck me about this odd epistle: it contained neither a -date nor an address, and, while “George Withers” was on the envelope, -the letter itself began “Dear Tom,” the inference being that “George -Withers” was an assumed name, to which it had been arranged that -communications should be directed. The “B.” of the signature was, I -had little doubt, the “Bessie” of the scraps of paper; in which case -the “E,” which Mrs. Peddar had discovered on the linen, stood for -“Elizabeth.” There still remained the puzzle of the “M.” - -The letter had scarcely a reassuring effect. That the “scoundrel” -alluded to was Lawrence, and that “to-night” was last night, I thought -was probable. If that were so, then it seemed that this young girl had -gone to Lawrence with anything but friendly intentions; and it was -quite certain that something had happened to him, as she had -predicted. One could only hope that it was not the something which she -had in her mind’s eye; and that, in any case, she had had no hand in -the happening. As a clue to the lady’s identity the letter did not -carry one much forwarder. - -As I was wondering what was the next step which I should take, a -thought occurred to me--the photograph which I had taken from -Lawrence’s mantelshelf. I had it in the pocket of my coat. I took it -out. It was an excellent likeness; the operator had caught her in a -characteristic pose, and made of her a really artistic picture. But it -was not with the likeness that I was at that moment concerned. I -looked at the back of the portrait, to see by whom it had been taken. -There was the name of one of the best London photographers in London. -Eureka! the thing was done. I had only to go to the man’s -establishment to gain particulars of the original. Surely, when he had -been told the circumstances of the case, he would not refuse to let me -have them. - -Filled with this idea I began to feverishly roll up the plum-coloured -cloak. As I did so there came a rapping at the door. - -“Who’s there?” - -“I want to speak to you.” - -The voice was Hume’s. Fortunately I had locked the door, or he would -quite possibly have walked straight into the room. - -“I will be with you directly.” - -I returned the cloak to the wardrobe, put the portrait into my pocket, -and with it the letter, then went to Hume. - -He stood with his back to the window, and his hands behind his back, -regarding me, as I entered the room, with a keenness very like -impertinence. There was something hawk-like in his attitude, as if he -was ready to pounce on me the instant he could find an opening. I had -never had much pleasure in the man’s society; but this air of open -resentment was new. It was as if out of Lawrence’s murdered body there -had come a malicious spirit, which had entered into him, and inspired -him with a sudden and unreasoning desire to work me mischief. That he -meant to be disagreeable his first words made plain. I immediately -made up my mind that, to the best of my ability, his intention should -be persistently ignored. - -“No wonder, Ferguson, that you resented my inquiry as to the terms on -which you parted last night with the dead man.” - -“Indeed? My dear chap, sit down. If you can manage it, don’t wear -quite such an air of gravity. This affair of poor Lawrence’s seems to -have affected you even more than it has me--which is odd.” - -“It is odd.” - -“Because I had always supposed that he was a more intimate -acquaintance of mine than yours.” - -“Such seems to have been the case. How much did you owe him?” - -“Owe him! Hume, you seem disposed to ask some very odd questions.” - -“You think so? When a person is suspected of a crime, the first thing -one looks for is a motive; you understand?” - -“I understand your bare words, but what is behind your bare words I do -not understand.” - -“Presently you will. Before we part I will endeavour to make myself -sufficiently plain. I repeat my question: How much did you owe him?” - -“Nothing.” - -“You lie.” - -“Hume, that is the second time you have used such language to me this -morning, and the second time I have refrained from knocking you down.” - -“That is true. Perhaps my turn will come to be knocked down. I am -aware that you are the sort of person who, for less cause, will do -much more than knock a man down.” He inclined his head further towards -me, his resemblance to a bird of prey becoming still more pronounced. -“Ferguson, I’m a pathologist; a student of mental diseases. As such I -have regarded you for some time with growing interest. Unless I err -you are the victim of a form of aberration which is not so unusual as -some may suppose; you suffer from mnemonic intervals.” - -“I have not the faintest notion what you mean.” - -Indeed, I was beginning to wonder if the doctor himself was not stark -mad. He went on, in his quick, even tones, as if he were calculating -what the effect of each word would be before he uttered it. - -“If you were to kill me where I am standing, I believe that you would -be capable of forgetting what you had done directly I was dead; and -quite possibly the consciousness of your action might never visit you -again. That is what I mean.” - -“Hume!” - -For some cause his words seemed to penetrate to the very marrow of my -bones, as if they had been daggers of ice. - -“Now I will explain to you why I assert that, consciously or -unconsciously, you lie in stating that you owed Edwin Lawrence -nothing. You see this.” He held out a small leather-covered volume, -which was fastened by a lock. “I found it in his room after you had -gone. It’s a sort of diary--rather an unexpected volume for such a man -to have--which statement is itself only another instance of the -unwisdom of judging, on insufficient data, of the direction in which a -man’s tastes may be inclined. In it he appears to have made fairly -regular entries, the last so lately as last night, after you had left -him. Here it is: - -“‘Have been playing cards with Ferguson, and winning pretty heavily. -Have long been conscious that F.’s an unusual type of man--dangerous. -The sort you would rather not have a row with. Felt it more than ever -to-night; believe if he could have torn the heart clean out of me, -without scandal, he would have done it then and there. A bad loser. He -said some things, and looked more; as good as suggesting I had not -played on the square. I did not break his head, but, though I only -laughed, I did not love him any the more. It’s eighteen hundred and -eighty that he owes me. I suspect it will be like drawing his -eye-teeth; but I’ll have it. The money will be useful.’ - -“That is the last entry he made in his diary. He must have been killed -before the ink had long been dry. It suggests the terms on which you -parted. What have you to say to it? Do you still assert that you owed -him nothing?” - -I had listened to Hume’s readings with feelings which I am unable to -describe. In the rush of events I had, for the moment, forgotten the -game of cards which we had played together. It was not pleasant to -have it recalled in such a fashion, by such a man. The falsity of the -conclusions which he drew from my temporary forgetfulness stung me not -a little. - -“I do still assert that I owed him nothing. One minute; let me finish. -But the eighteen hundred and eighty pounds which I should have given -to Edwin Lawrence will now be handed over to his estate.” - -“True. As he correctly perceived, you are an unusual type of man. -Ferguson, you and I are alone together. What I am about to say will be -said without prejudice. I shall not whisper a hint of it abroad -without good and sufficient ground to go upon, but I tell you now, -quite frankly, that it is my opinion that you used some means--what -they were I do not pretend at present to understand--to compass Edwin -Lawrence’s death.” - -“Hume!” - -“I know that you were in his room when he was being killed.” - -“You know that I was in his room!” - -“I suspected it at first. Now I know it. I will tell you how. A girl, -one of the servants of the place, just stopped me to say that, at an -early hour this morning--so far as I can judge, within five minutes of -the commission of the murder--she saw you running along the corridor, -from Lawrence’s room towards your own, as if you were flying for your -life. My own impression is that you were flying from the life which -you had taken.” - -“Hume! Some one saw me in the corridor! Who was it?” - -“At this moment, never mind. The woman will be produced in due course. -She says that the perspiration was pouring down your cheeks; which -seems odd, considering that the morning was chilly, that you are not -of a plethoric habit, and that you were clad only in your pyjamas.” - -It was with difficulty that I retained my self-control. Was it -possible that it had not been a vision after all, but that I had been -the actual spectator of that awful tragedy? - -As I was endeavouring to arrange in my mind the new aspect of the case -suggested by Hume’s words, the door opened and a man came in. - -“Is one of you two gentlemen Mr. Ferguson?” - -“I am.” - -“Then you’re the gentleman they’ve sent me to as being Mr. Edwin’s -friend. The Lord forgive me, but I believe that my poor master’s -murdered him!” - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - THE SUSPICIONS OF MR. MORLEY - -The newcomer was a man apparently about sixty years of age, short, -and grey-haired, with old-fashioned, neatly-trimmed side whiskers. He -was dressed entirely in black, even to black kid gloves; his hat he -carried in his hand. He seemed to be in a state of considerable -agitation, and stood looking from one to the other of us as if he was -endeavouring to make up his mind as to who or what we were. Hume -recognized him at once. He went striding towards him from across the -room. - -“Morley, you had better come with me. It is to me you wish to speak, -not to this gentleman.” - -I interposed. - -“He asked for Mr. Ferguson. I am Mr. Ferguson. It therefore seems that -it is to me that he wishes to speak.” - -“Don’t talk nonsense! You’re a stranger to him; I tell you it’s a -mistake. You know me, Morley, don’t you?” - -The old gentleman looked at Hume with eyes which seemed half dazed. - -“Yes, sir; oh yes. You’re Dr. Hume. I know you very well.” - -“You hear? Stand aside!” - -“I shall not stand aside. And, Hume, take my strong advice and don’t -attempt to interfere with any visitor of mine. You hear me?” - -“I hear, but I shall not pay the least attention. Morley, I forbid you -to say a word in this gentleman’s presence. You have no right to speak -of your master’s private affairs in the presence of strangers. I am -his friend; I will safeguard his interests. I tell you that by not -keeping a strict watch over your tongue you may do him a serious -mischief.” - -“Very good, Hume. Evidently to remonstrate with you is to waste one’s -breath. I will try another way.” Taking him up in my arms I carried -him towards the door. “I am going to put you outside my room, and, -before you attempt to enter it again, I trust that you will have -learnt at least the rudiments of decent manners. Out you go!” - -And out he went. Depositing him on the floor in the corridor, I locked -the door in his face. He banged against it with his fist. - -“You shall pay for this!” - -“Very good; render your account. I will render you such moneys as are -due.” - -“Morley, I forbid you to say a word to him at your peril.” - -I turned to my visitor. - -“I beg, Mr. Morley, that you will take a seat. Pray do not heed our -excitable friend. Just now he can hardly be said to have the full -control of his senses--as you yourself perceive. As you remarked, I am -John Ferguson, the friend of Mr. Edwin Lawrence. You, I take it, are -in the service of his brother, Mr. Philip.” - -Mr. Morley’s calmness had not perceptibly increased. He seemed -impressed by the way in which I had handled Hume; and, also, disposed -to be influenced by the doctor’s express commands to hold his tongue; -he was like a man between two stools. - -“Yes, sir, I’m in Mr. Philip’s service; but I think that perhaps the -doctor’s right, and I oughtn’t to talk about my master.” - -“Possibly, Mr. Morley; but you have spoken of him already. You have -accused him of murder.” - -“No, sir, not that!” - -“Just now, in the presence of Dr. Hume and myself, you expressed your -belief that Mr. Philip had killed Mr. Edwin.” - -“Oh no, sir, not that; I didn’t go so far as that. I didn’t mean it if -I did.” - -“What you meant is another question; that is what you said. I may tell -you, Mr. Morley, that I am not of your opinion. I do not believe that -Mr. Philip had any hand whatever in his brother’s death.” - -“No, sir? I--I’m glad to hear it.” - -“Very soon you will receive from his own lips an explanation which -will blow all your doubts away. I believe that he will clear the whole -thing up at once, if you will take me to him.” - -Mr. Morley’s jaw dropped open. - -“Take you to him? But that--that’s just it. I don’t know where he is. -Isn’t he--here?” - -He looked about him as if he half expected to discover Philip Lawrence -hidden behind a curtain or under a table. - -“Do I understand you to mean that your master has not returned all -night?” - -“Yes, sir; that’s what I do mean, and that’s what makes me -so--concerned. He’s a gentleman of regular habits--most regular; and -I’ve never known him to stop out all night before without giving me -warning.” - -I felt that, in that case, he must indeed be a gentleman of most -regular habits. - -“Where does Mr. Philip Lawrence live?” - -“In Arlington Street; that’s his London address.” - -“When did he go out?” - -“After midnight, in--in a towering rage.” - -“In a towering rage? With whom?” - -“Well, sir,”--Mr. Morley came closer; he cast an anxious glance around -him; he dropped his voice--“I’m not a talkative man, not as a rule, as -any one who knows me will tell you; but I’ve got something to say -which I feel I must say to some one, though you heard what Dr. Hume -said. But, perhaps, sir, as you’re Mr. Edwin’s friend, you’re Mr. -Philip’s too.” - -“Mr. Morley, in making any statement to me, you will be at least as -safe as if you made it to Dr. Hume. I tell you that I believe your -master’s hands are clean. To prove it, we shall have to establish the -truth. If you have anything to say which will go to make the darkness -light, say it, like a man, before it’s too late.” - -“You won’t use it to do him a disservice? And you won’t say that I -talked about him in a way I didn’t ought to have done?” - -“I will do neither of these things.” - -“Well, sir, I like your looks; you look like the kind of gentleman one -can trust, and I flatter myself I’m a pretty good judge of faces; -and--and the way you handled Dr. Hume was”--he coughed behind his -hand--“queer. I’ll make a clean breast of it.” - -The old gentleman’s hesitation had its amusing side; I was conscious -that something very unusual had happened to throw him, to such a -degree, off his mental balance. - -“That’s right, Mr. Morley; we shall soon arrive at an understanding if -we are frank with one another. Sit down.” - -He sat down on the edge of a chair. His hat he placed beside him on -the floor, crown uppermost. - -“Well, sir”--with his gloved fingers he stroked his chin, still -regarding me with an air of dubitation--“I’m afraid that Mr. Edwin was -not all that he ought to have been.” - -“I am afraid that something similar could be said of all of us.” - -“It was in money matters chiefly, though there were other things as -well; but in money matters he was most irregular--quite unlike Mr. -Philip. Mr. Philip has let him have thousands and thousands of pounds; -what he did with it was a mystery. They quarrelled dreadfully.” - -“Brothers will quarrel, Mr. Morley. It’s a way they have.” - -The old gentleman shook his head. - -“Ah, but the fault was Mr. Edwin’s. Mr. Philip is hot-tempered, but -Mr. Edwin was always in the wrong.” - -Leaning towards me, Mr. Morley whispered, under cover of his hand, -“Once Mr. Philip thrashed him--broke his stick across his back, he -did; Mr. Edwin must have been black and blue with bruises. Mr. -Philip’s very quick when he’s roused, and he’s a better man than his -brother. He was very sorry afterwards for what he had done--dear me! -how sorry he was. He went to his brother and he asked him to forgive -him, and Mr. Edwin did forgive him; I expect he got a good deal more -money out of Mr. Philip, or he never would have done. He was -unforgiving enough, was Mr. Edwin, unless it paid him to be otherwise; -he’d wait for years for a chance of returning, with good thumping -interest, what he thought was an injury; it was the only thing he ever -did return with interest.” - -The expression on Mr. Morley’s face as he said this did not itself -suggest the charity which forgiveth all things. - -“So it went on, for soon they were quarrelling again. But lately it -has been worse than ever.” - -Looking anxiously about him, Mr. Morley again resorted to the cover of -his hand. - -“There’s been--there’s been some trouble about some bills. Mr. Edwin’s -been putting some bills on the market which weren’t quite what they -ought to have been, and getting money on them. I’m afraid he’s been -making an unauthorized use of his brother’s name.” - -“Are you sure of what you say? At this point it is for me to follow -Dr. Hume’s lead and warn you to be careful.” - -“Oh, I’m sure enough. I’ve too much reason to be sure. Forgery, sir; -that’s what it was, rank forgery. In his rage Mr. Philip let it all -come out, so that there’s plenty of others who know of it, or I -shouldn’t be speaking of it now. Mr. Philip has gone on dreadfully -since he found it out. I’ve sometimes wondered if he was going mad. - -“Yesterday afternoon Mr. Edwin came to Arlington Street; there was an -awful scene. I went into them; I didn’t think they’d come to blows in -front of me. Then Mr. Philip began at me. ‘Morley,’ he said, shouting -so that you might have heard him in Pall Mall, ‘my brother’s a thief! -That’s no news, you’ve heard it before; but he’s been robbing me -again, on fresh lines, and he’ll keep on robbing me until, in spite of -all I can do, he’ll succeed in dragging an honoured name through the -mire. But before then, Morley, I’ll kill him, for the cur he is. If -he’s found with his neck broken you’ll know who did it.’ - -“Then he turned to Mr. Edwin. ‘So you’ve had fair warning. And now, -you blackguard, out of this house you go before I throw you through -the window.’ And out he did go, and it was about time he did, or I -believe Mr. Philip would have thrown him through the window.” - -Mr. Morley passed a red silk handkerchief carefully to and fro across -his brow. I thought of how Edwin Lawrence and I had spent the previous -evening. He certainly had not worn his troubles where others could see -them; he was generally something of a cynic, but I did not remember to -have seen him more genially inclined, or apparently in a more careless -mood. The man, as limned by Mr. Morley, was to me an entire -revelation. - -The old gentleman went on. “In the evening, about nine o’clock, some -one came to see Mr. Philip. He was a big, portly party, very well -dressed, with shiny black hair, and I noticed that his fingers were -covered with rings. I set him down for a Jew. He wouldn’t give his -name, and when I told him Mr. Philip wasn’t in, he said he’d call -again. He came again, about eleven. Mr. Philip hadn’t returned; so he -gave me a letter, and told me to give it to him directly he did. It -was just past twelve when Mr. Philip did come in. I gave him the -letter, though I was in two minds as to whether I hadn’t better keep -it till the morning, for I smelt that there was mischief in it; and -now I wish I had, for directly he opened it Mr. Philip broke into the -worst rage I ever saw him in. He was like a man stark mad. ‘That -brother of mine,’ he screamed, ‘is a more infernal scoundrel even than -I thought he was; I’ll kill him if I can find him!’ And he tore out of -the house before I could move to stop him.” - -Again the red silk handkerchief went across Mr. Morley’s forehead. The -mere recollection of the scene bedewed his brow with sweat. - -“Well, sir, I sat up for him all night, and my wife, she sat up to -keep me company; but he never came home. We listened to every sound, -and we jumped at every footstep that came near the house, thinking it -was him. Emma--that’s Mrs. Morley--kept on snivelling pretty nearly -all the time. ‘Joe,’ she kept on saying--my name’s Joe, sir, leastways -Joseph--‘Joe, do you think that Mr. Philip’s killing him?’ - -“To be asked such a question made one feel like killing her; for it -was the very question which I kept putting to myself all through the -night. My feeling was that Mr. Philip had been drinking more than he -was used to, and that letter found him in an evil mood; and when he’s -in one of his rages he’s not the good, kind-hearted, fair-minded -gentleman he generally is, he’s more like a raving lunatic, although I -say it, and capable of anything. - -“When morning came, and there were still no signs of him, I couldn’t -stand it any longer. So I came round to see Mr. Edwin, and directly I -came they told me he had been murdered. Murdered! Murdered!” He -repeated the word again and again, as if he found a ghastly pleasure -in the repetition. - -I paced up and down, pondering the tale as he had told it. I perceived -how, from his point of view, the case looked black against his master. -Yet still I felt persuaded that there was something in the whole -business which was beyond our comprehension, and that, when we learned -what that something was, it would be conclusively shown that the -deductions which he drew were erroneous. - -“Do you think that Mr. Philip killed him?” - -“No, Morley, I do not. But I think that, if you get a chance, you’ll -hang him.” - -“Hang Mr. Philip? Me? No, not--not if he’d killed Mr. Edwin a dozen -times over.” - -“On the contrary, if you don’t take care, you’ll hang him, although he -hasn’t killed Mr. Edwin even once. If they were to put you into the -witness-box, and you were to tell that tale, your evidence would need -but the slenderest corroboration to send him to the gallows right -away.” - -“Mr. Ferguson!” - -“Morley, you must know that you had not the slightest right to tell me -what you have done. Fortunately your information has been imparted to -a person who will not make an injurious use of it; but, if you take my -serious advice, you will not breathe a word of it to any other living -soul. You will go straight home, and you will say nothing to any one; -and you will know nothing either.” - -“But--but where is Mr. Philip, sir?” - -“What business is that of yours? I take it that he is free to regulate -his movements without consulting you. Whatever concern you may feel, -you will not allow a hint of it to escape you--that is, if you have -your master’s interests at heart!” - -There came an imperious rapping at the door. - -“Who’s there?” - -“It’s I--Inspector Symonds, of the Criminal Investigation Department. -Be so good, Mr. Ferguson, as to open the door.” - -“There, Morley, is some one who will be glad to listen to what you -have been telling me, but if you have the least regard for your -master’s reputation, not to mention his neck, you will see him further -first. You’re not forced to speak a word unless you choose; I -shouldn’t choose; and here’s something to help you not to choose.” - -I handed him a wine-glass full of brandy. He swallowed it so fast that -it set him coughing. There came the knocking at the door again. - -“Open this door, Mr. Ferguson!” - -“With pleasure. You seem to be in a hurry, sir. Possibly you are not -aware that these rooms are private, and that it is not necessary that -I should open to every person who takes it into his head to knock.” - -As, opening the door, I planted myself in the doorway, Mr. Symonds -looked at me as if surprised. He was not a little man, but I was a -good head taller, and I fancy that he had not expected to find me -quite so big, or he would have hustled past me. As it was, he -refrained. - -“I am informed that you have some one in your rooms who can give -important information in the matter of Mr. Edwin Lawrence’s murder.” - -“Indeed. Who is your informant?” - -“I am. You will find, Ferguson, that you cannot play with edged -tools.” - -Hume was the speaker. - -“So? Pray enter, Mr. Symonds.” Hume tried to pass in after him. “If -you don’t mind, I would rather not. I think that edged tools are -better outside.” - -I shut the door in his face; he taking my cavalier treatment of him -more meekly than he was wont to do. Perhaps he remembered. - -Mr. Symonds immediately assailed the lamblike Mr. Morley. - -“I believe that your name is Morley; and that you are in the service -of Mr. Philip Lawrence. What information have you to give with -reference to the murder of his brother?” - -“Mr. Morley has no information to give.” - -It was I who answered. - -“Let Mr. Morley speak for himself.” - -“Permit me to repeat, Mr. Symonds, that these premises are private; -and before I allow you, on these premises, to bully a guest of mine, -I must request you to show me the authority on which you are acting.” - -Inspector Symonds looked me up and down, as if he did not know exactly -what to make of me. He seemed to hesitate. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - THE RECOGNITION OF THE PHOTOGRAPH - -When I had succeeded in extricating Mr. Morley from the clutches of -Inspector Symonds, after a considerable wordy warfare, during which I -had difficulty in keeping the inspector’s language within -parliamentary bounds, I started on a little errand of my own. - -The inspector appeared to be under the impression that, for some -malevolent reason, I wished to interfere with the due and proper -execution of the law; and he told me, quite frankly, that so soon as -Mr. Morley was off my premises he would bring, not only the old -gentleman, but, so far as I understood, myself also, to book. -Therefore, feeling that, under such circumstances, two might be better -than one, so soon as the interview was ended, I proceeded, since his -way was mine, to escort Mr. Morley at least part of his way home. - -The old gentleman was in a condition of great mental perturbation. He -was sorry, for his master’s sake, that he had said as much as he had -done to the inspector, and he was also sorry, for his own sake, that -he had not said more; for he was uncomfortably conscious that, by his -comparative reticence, he had incurred the officer’s resentment. - -“Do you think, sir,” he said, as we were parting--and I thought, as he -was speaking, how old he seemed and tremulous--“that that Mr. Symonds -will hunt me up, and worry me, as he as good as said he would? Because -I know that I shan’t be able to stand it, if he does; my nerves are -not what they were, and I never dreamed that I should have trouble -with the police at my time of life.” - -I endeavoured to reassure him. - -“Mr. Morley, be at ease; fear nothing. You are the sole proprietor of -your own tongue, use it to preserve silence; no one can force you to -speak unless you choose.” - -I was not by any means so sure of this, in my own mind; but this was a -detail. My object was to comfort Mr. Morley. - -It was at the door of the house in Arlington Street that we parted; -after all, I went with him the whole way--it was practically mine. I -waited while he inquired if his master had returned. The face of the -old lady who opened the door, and who I immediately concluded was Mrs. -Morley, was answer enough; she looked as if she bore all the trouble -of the world upon her shoulders. He had not; nothing had been seen or -heard of him. - -The point at which I was aiming was the photographer’s. As I walked -away from Philip Lawrence’s house, I could not but feel conscious that -every moment he remained absent made the case look blacker. What -reason could he have to stay away, save one? - -An assistant came forward to greet me, as I crossed the threshold of -the building which housed that famous firm of photographers. - -“I want you to tell me who is the original of one of your portraits.” - -“We don’t, as a rule, sir, give the names of sitters, without their -express permission.” - -“This is one of the exceptions to the rule. Here is the portrait--who -is the lady it represents?” - -I handed him the photograph which I had taken off Edwin Lawrence’s -mantelshelf. So soon as he saw it he smiled; looking up at me with -what was suspiciously like a twinkle in his eye. - -“As you say, this is one of the exceptions to the rule. I certainly -have no objection to tell you who this lady is; that is, if you don’t -know already. In which case I should imagine that you are one of the -few persons in London who does not.” - -“What on earth do you mean? Who is the lady?” - -“You are not a theatre-goer, sir?” - -“Why do you say that? I suppose I go to the theatres as often as other -people.” - -“You haven’t been to the Pandora lately.” - -“The Pandora? I’ve been there three times within the last month or -so.” - -“Then, on the occasion of your visits was Miss Bessie Moore not -acting?” - -“Miss Bessie Moore!” - -“This is the portrait of Miss Bessie Moore, and an excellent likeness, -too. She has honoured us several times with sittings, and this is -about the most favourable result we have had so far. It is not easy to -do justice to the lady.” - -Bessie Moore! The assistant was a much smaller man than I; but if, at -that moment, he had given me a push, though ever such a gentle one, I -believe he would have pushed me over. What an idiot I had been! No -wonder that her face had seemed familiar. Bessie Moore--admittedly one -of the loveliest women in town, whose name was on every tongue, who -was honoured by all the world! At that moment her acting was drawing -all London to the Pandora Theatre. I had seen something of theatres, -whatever that assistant might suppose to the contrary, but I had never -before seen such acting as hers, nor had I ever seen so lovely a -woman! And it was Bessie Moore who had come through my bedroom window, -at dead of night, in that plum-coloured cloak. Every moment the wonder -grew. - -Either the expression of my face or something else about me appeared -to afford that assistant considerable amusement. In the midst of my -bewilderment I was conscious that he grinned. - -“You look surprised,” he said. - -“It is possible for persons of even ripened years to feel surprised, -as you will discover when you yourself attain to years of discretion.” - -I fancy that it was my intention to crush that smiling youngster, -though I suspect that the result of my little effort was only to -increase my appearance of imbecility. At any rate, his grin did not -grow less. I proceeded with my inquiries. - -“What is Miss Moore’s address?” - -“The Pandora Theatre.” - -“Thank you; I am aware of that. It is her private address which I -require.” - -“That, I am afraid, we cannot give you.” - -No doubt they were pestered with similar inquiries by individuals who -were more or less idiots, and altogether impertinent; and, quite -possibly, he took me for a member of that considerable family. I gave -him my card. - -“There is my name. The lady who is the original of that portrait has -met with an accident. I did not know that she was Miss Moore until you -told me, but it is important that I should be able to communicate with -her friends at once.” - -“An accident? I am sorry to hear that Miss Moore has met with an -accident. If you will wait a moment I will make inquiries.” - -The assistant disappeared; presently returning with an older man, who -examined my card as he came. He addressed me: - -“You are Mr. Ferguson?” - -“I am.” - -“You say that Miss Moore has met with an accident?” - -“I do.” - -“What is its nature?” - -“That I am not at liberty to tell you. I can only say that it is of -the first importance that I should be able to communicate with her -friends without delay.” - -He hesitated, considering me attentively; then he gave me the -information I required. - -“Miss Moore lives with Miss Adair, who, as you perhaps know, is also -acting at the Pandora Theatre. The address is 22, Hailsham Road, The -Boltons, Brompton.” - -As I sped towards Brompton in a hansom, I tried to assimilate the -tidings I had just received. In vain. It may be that I am dull-witted, -and that my mental processes are slow; but the more I sought the -solution of the puzzle the more insoluble it seemed. It did appear -incredible that the woman who had all the world, like a ball, at her -feet, with whose fame London was ringing, should have come to me, at -such an hour, in such a fashion, from such a scene. The mystery was -beyond my finding out. - -Hailsham Road proved to be a nice, wide, clean, old-fashioned street, -and No. 22 a nice, clean, old-fashioned house. It was not large, but -the impression which its exterior made upon me was a distinctly -pleasant one. It was detached; it stood back, behind railings, at a -little distance from the pavement; in the sunshine it looked as white -as snow; there was a flower-bed in front, and flowers made the -window-sills resplendent. My ring was answered, on the instant, by a -maid who was quite in keeping with the house; she was unmistakably -neat, and I have no hesitation in affirming she was pretty. - -“Can I see Miss Adair? I have brought news of Miss Moore.” - -The maid left me in the hall--it was the daintiest hall I remembered -to have seen, and very prettily papered--while she conveyed my message -up the stairs. - -It appeared that I could see Miss Adair; for, presently, a lady came -flying down the stairs, about seven steps at a time, and all but flung -herself into my arms. - -“You’ve brought me news of Bessie? Oh, I am so glad! I’ve been -half-beside myself; I haven’t slept a wink all night. I was really -just wondering if I hadn’t better communicate with the police. Oh, -please will you step in there?” - -I stepped in there. “There” was a sitting-room. From the wall looked -down on me, as I entered, a life-size portrait of my visitor of the -plum-coloured cloak. The face was turned directly towards me; the eyes -seemed to be subjecting me to a serious examination. I did not care to -meet them; in their presence I was conscious of a vague discomfort. -The atmosphere was redolent of a feminine personality. On every hand -were the owner’s little treasures. I pictured her flitting here and -there among them, touching this, altering the position of that, dumbly -inquiring of me all the time, with, in her air, a touch of resentment, -what I did in her apartment. - -Miss Adair perceived that I was not so ready with my tongue as I might -have been. There was a sharp note of anxiety in her voice. - -“There’s nothing wrong with Bessie, is there?” - -I stammered, like an ass, “I--I’m afraid there is.” - -“She’s not--dead?” - -“Dead! Good gracious, no! Nothing of the kind.” - -“Then what has happened to her? Tell me! Quick! Don’t you see that I’m -on tenterhooks?” - -“First of all let me be certain of my ground. I take it that that is -Miss Moore.” - -I handed her the, by this time, historical photograph. - -“Of course it is. What do you mean by asking? Where is she? Who are -you? What have you done to her? Don’t stand there as if you were -afraid to open your mouth!” - -“The truth is, Miss Adair, that I am rather at a loss for words with -which to express myself. But, if you will bear with me, I will -endeavour to make myself as plain as I can; it is rather a difficult -task which I have to perform.” - -It was a difficult task, nor was it made easier by the two shrewd eyes -which were regarding me as if I were some curious and unnecessary kind -of creature. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - THE REVELATIONS OF “MR. GEORGE WITHERS” - -Miss Adair was a tall, commandingly built young woman, with about -her more than a suggestion of muscularity. I had recognized her at -once. On the stage she was accustomed to play the part of the dashing -adventuress; the sort of person who could not, under any possible -circumstances, be put down. I realized that she might be disposed to -carry something of her stage manner into actual life. She confronted -me as if I were some despised, but lifelong enemy, whose attacks she -was prepared to resist at every point. - -“When are you going to tell me what has happened to Bessie? In the -first place, where is she?” - -“She’s at Imperial Mansions.” - -“What’s she doing there?” - -“She’s in charge of the housekeeper--Mrs. Peddar.” - -“In charge! What do you mean?” - -“Miss Moore is not--not herself.” - -“You men have been playing some trick on her. You shall pay for it -dearly if you have!” - -I caught her by the arm; she evincing a strong inclination to rush off -to Imperial Mansions there and then. - -“Miss Moore came through my bedroom window, at an early hour this -morning, in--a curious condition.” - -“Your bedroom window! This morning! She must have been in a curious -condition!” - -“A man was murdered in the building about the same time that she -appeared at the window. His set of chambers are on the same floor as -mine; they communicate by the balcony along which she came. When she -entered the cloak she wore was soaked in blood, and her hands were wet -with it.” - -Miss Adair drew back, staring at me with distended eyes. - -“Man! Are you a man, or are you a devil? Do you dare to hint that -Bessie, my Bessie Moore, could by any possibility be guilty of -murder!” - -“I simply state to you the facts. That she was in the dead man’s room -there is irrefutable evidence to show; that she had anything to do -with his murder I do not for a moment believe--I am as convinced of -her innocence as you can be. My theory is that she was an unwilling -witness of what took place, and that the horror of it temporarily -unhinged her brain.” - -“Is she--mad?” - -“No; but she suffers from entire loss of memory. Her life might have -commenced with her entrance through my window; she can remember -nothing of what occurred before, not even her own name. I believe that -if she could be brought to recall what she actually saw take place, -her innocence would be at once made plain.” - -“What is the name of the man who was--murdered?” I told her. -“Lawrence? Edwin Lawrence? I don’t remember ever having heard the -name.” - -“She said nothing to you last night about having an appointment with -him? Or with any one?” - -She hesitated. - -“Are you--Bessie’s friend?” - -“I am. At least, I hope I may call myself her friend, although I never -spoke to her before last night. I do not think that there is anything -which I would not do to save her from misconstruction.” - -She eyed me--quizzically. - -“I think I’ll trust you, Mr. Ferguson, though I never trusted a man -yet without regretting it. I hope you won’t feel hurt, but there is -something about you which reminds me of a St. Bernard. You’re -big--very big; you look strong--awfully strong; you’re hairy.” I -involuntarily put my hand up to my beard. “Oh, I don’t mean that -you’re too hairy, the beard’s becoming; but you are hairy. You look -simple; somehow one associates simplicity with trustworthiness; and -now you’re blushing.” She would have made any one blush! “The blush -settles it; I will repose my confidence in you, as I have done in -others!” - -Her manner changed; she became serious. - -“The truth is that last night Bessie did seem worried, frightfully -worried; and that’s what’s been worrying me. She was not like her -usual self a bit; I couldn’t make her out at all. I hadn’t the -faintest notion what was wrong; when I asked her if she was ill she -snapped my head off. And for Bessie to be snappish was an unheard-of -thing; her temper’s not like mine, always going off, she’s the -gentlest, sweetest soul. She dressed herself, and walked out of the -theatre, without saying a word to me; I only ran against her in the -street, by accident, just as she was getting into a cab. - -“I said, ‘Bessie, aren’t you coming home with me?’--because we always -do come home together. But she answered, quite huffishly, that she was -not--she had an appointment to keep. I did not dare to ask with whom, -or where; though it did seem odd that she should have made an -appointment, at that hour of the night, without saying a word of it to -me; but I did venture to inquire when I might expect her to return. -Leaning her head out of the cab, just as it was starting, she called -out to me, ‘Perhaps never.’ I didn’t suppose that she was entirely in -earnest, but somehow I couldn’t help feeling that, about the answer, -there was something which might turn out to be unpleasantly -prophetic.” - -“One thing is plain, Miss Adair, you must come with me at once to -Imperial Mansions. Your presence may restore to your friend her -memory. But, whether or not, you must bring her home, or at any rate -you must take her away from the Mansions, and that immediately.” - -“Your manner, Mr. Ferguson, is autocratic. You don’t ask me, you -command; but I’ll obey. That is, if you’ll condescend to wait while I -put a hat on.” - -She went upstairs. Almost immediately she had done so there came a -ring at the front door. The door was opened and shut again. After it -had been shut, Miss Adair called down the stairs: - -“Ellen, who was that?” - -The maid’s voice replied, “It was some one who wished to see Miss -Moore. He said his name was Withers--Mr. George Withers.” - -“George Withers!” I shouted. - -Without a moment’s hesitation I rushed out of the sitting-room, flung -open the front door, and dashed into the street. I dare say that -Ellen, and Miss Adair, too, thought that I had suddenly become a -raving lunatic. But Ellen’s mention of the caller’s name recalled to -me the fact that the peculiar letter which I had found in the pocket -of the plum-coloured cloak had been addressed to “George Withers.” - -A young man was going down the street, walking rather quickly. I -shouted to him. - -“Hallo! Mr. George Withers!” - -He stopped and turned with something of a start; then stared, as if -uncertain what to make of me or what to do. I called to him again. - -“I want you!” - -As I spoke I moved towards him, intending, since he seemed indisposed -to come to me, to go to him and then explain. But no sooner had I -started than he swung round on his heels, tore off at full speed, and, -before I realised what it was that he was doing, had vanished round -the corner. Although I was unable to guess why he should run away from -me as if I were the plague, I had no intention, if I could help it, of -being run away from; so, as hard as I could pelt, I went after him. - -It was a lively chase while it lasted; I must have presented an -elegant figure as, hatless, my coat tails flying, I raced through -those respectable streets. Fortunately, he was no match for me in -pace; I had him before he reached the Fulham Road. He must have been -in shocking condition, for he had already run himself right out, and, -gasping for breath, was panting like a blown rabbit. - -Saying nothing--I felt that that was not the place in which to carry -on the sort of conversation I had in my mind’s eye--I took him by the -shoulder and marched him back again. He, on his part, was equally -mute, and made not the slightest effort at resistance. Miss Adair -received us at the door. - -“What on earth is the matter? Where have you been? And who is this -man?” - -Her trick of speaking in italics reminded me of her manner on the -stage. I led my companion into the sitting-room. There I introduced -him. - -“This is Mr. George Withers. I fancy he can give us information on a -subject on which, at this moment, information is very much needed.” - -“Mr. George Withers” was a mere youth, scarcely more than a boy. I was -not prepossessed by his appearance, though he was well dressed and had -a handsome face. He had proved himself a cur; I felt sure that he was -a sneak, and perhaps something worse as well. I handed him the letter -which I had taken from the lady’s pocket. - -“I believe, Mr. Withers, that this letter is for you.” - -He seemed at first reluctant to take it, as if fearful that it -contained something which might disturb his peace of mind. He eyed it -doubtfully; read the address; perceived that the envelope had been -opened. A disagreeable look came upon his handsome countenance; he -turned on me with a snarl. - -“Who are you? What do you mean by treating me as you have done? And -how dare you open a letter that’s addressed to me?” - -“First read your letter, Mr. Withers. Put your questions afterwards.” - -He scanned the brief epistle with looks which did not improve as he -went on. Then he snapped at me as if he would have liked to bite as -well. - -“You stole it; you must have stolen it! I’ve half a mind to give you -in charge; you don’t know what mischief you mayn’t have done.” - -“Is the person alluded to as ‘that scoundrel’ in the letter which you -are holding Mr. Edwin Lawrence of Imperial Mansions?” - -“What do you want to know for? What do you mean by meddling in my -affairs? What business is it of yours?” - -“Because, if it is, Mr. Edwin Lawrence is dead.” - -“Dead!” - -“He was murdered last night.” - -“Murdered!” The fashion of his countenance changed. “Then she--she -killed him.” - -He staggered back till he staggered against a chair. A pitiful object -he presented as he perched himself upon the edge. Neither Miss Adair -nor I said a word. After a moment’s interval, during which the muscles -of his face twitched as if he had become suddenly possessed with St. -Vitus’ Dance, he went rambling on, apparently not altogether conscious -of what it was that he was saying. - -“I knew there’d be mischief--I knew there would. I said if she would -meddle in my affairs she’d make a mess of it. I told her she didn’t -know what she was going in for, that he was dangerous. But she’s as -obstinate as a mule; she never would take my advice, never!” - -“Which shows that she is a lady of considerable discretion. What -connection, Mr. Withers, have you with Miss Moore?” - -He started forward on the chair, casting a frightened look about him. - -“Is she--taken? And are you a policeman?” - -“No, I am not a policeman; I have not that honour. And she is not -taken--as yet. I repeat my inquiry. What connection, Mr. Withers, have -you with Miss Moore?” - -“Never mind! That’s my business, not yours. She’s got into this mess -by herself, and she must get out of it by herself; I wash my hands of -her. I’ve got an appointment which I must keep. You let me go.” - -He got up with a little air of bluster which was pitiful; it was such -a poor attempt at make-believe. - -“Listen to me, Mr. Withers--correct me if I am wrong; but you seem to -be a nice young man--a very nice young man. And it’s because you’re -such a very nice young man, always attending, Mr. Withers, your -correction, that I desire to inform you that if you don’t answer my -questions, as truthfully as your nature will allow you, there’ll be -trouble. You understand? Trouble. So be so good as to tell me at once -what there can possibly be in common between a lady of Miss Moore’s -class and a person of yours?” - -“‘Yours’ is good. I don’t see what difference there can be between our -classes, considering that she’s my sister.” - -Miss Adair interposed. - -“Your sister? Bessie’s your sister. Then you’re Tom Moore, her -vagabond of a brother, who’s robbed her of hundreds and hundreds of -pounds. I thought I knew your face, it’s like a bad copy of Bessie’s, -with all her goodness left out and your own wickedness put in. You -ungrateful scamp, to speak of her in that cold-blooded manner, when -she has done all that she possibly could for you, and you, in return, -have been to her the one trouble of her life.” - -He confronted the frank-spoken lady with looks which were alive with -impudence. I perceived that he was a better match for a woman than a -man. - -“I know who you are; you call yourself ‘Miss Adair.’ ‘Adair!’ Go on! -Sure that’s your proper name? I know more about you than you perhaps -think. And for Bessie to let out things to you about me shows the sort -she is; telling a pack of lies about her only relative.” - -“Her only relative! It’s her misfortune that she has you.” - -“Oh, that’s it, is it? Then from this day forward she hasn’t got me; -tell her so, with my kind regards. As I’ve said already, I wash my -hands of her; I cut the relationship. Willingly I’ll never own to -bearing her name again. It’s not a name I ever have been particularly -proud of, and now it’s one of which I shall have less cause to be -proud than ever, from what I’m told. Good-day to you, Miss Adair!” - -He was now actually marching from the room. I had to give him a gentle -hint in order to detain him. He winced under my touch like a hound -which fears punishment. - -“What was the nature of your business, Mr. Moore, which took your -sister last night to Mr. Edwin Lawrence?” - -“That’s my business; it’s none of yours.” - -“Answer my question.” - -He actually whimpered. It was beginning to dawn on me that I might be -constrained to wring his neck before he went. - -“Don’t! You hurt! It was about some bills.” - -“Some bills of yours which you had given to Mr. Lawrence?” - -“No, it wasn’t then. Don’t! It was about some bills which he got me -to--to fake.” - -“I see. And might some of them have borne the name of Mr. Philip -Lawrence?” - -“Who told you? How do you know?” - -“Never mind who told me. Answer!” - -“It was all his fault! I should never have thought of such a thing if -it hadn’t been for him; he egged me on. I--I owed him a few pounds, -and he said if I were to fake up some bills, with his brother’s name -on them, he’d let me off.” - -“And put the forgeries on the market, dividing the proceeds of the -fraud with you?” - -“Nothing of the kind, I’ll take my oath to it; I swear I never had a -penny. I never dreamt that he’d discount them, not for a moment! I -thought it was a game he was going to play off on his brother--some -sort of joke.” - -“Keen sense of humour yours, Mr. Moore.” - -“That’s where he had me; he must have gone straight off and cashed the -bills. Then his brother found it out, and then he came to me and -threatened to tell his brother that it was I who’d done it.” - -“And then you went to your sister and asked her, probably on your -bended knees, to save you from exposure.” - -“There was no bended knees about it; you’re very much mistaken if you -think there was. I’m not that kind. But I--I certainly mentioned to -her something about it--she’s my own flesh and blood.” - -“Being your own flesh and blood she, possibly, offered to do her best -to square it for you.” - -“That’s the mistake she made. She talked about giving him a hundred or -two, as though that would be of any use. I said to her that if she’d -give the money to me I could go abroad and start afresh, and it might -be the making of me. But she never would take my advice, never!” - -“So your sister, a young, unprotected girl, at your urgent -solicitation, went alone to this man at that hour of the night, at the -risk of--a good many things; and, in order to save you from the -well-merited consequences of your being a cowardly rascal, offered to -hand over to him her hard-won savings, and, in all probability, to -pledge to the fullest extent her future earnings. And when, in the -morning, he is found to have been murdered, you immediately jump to -the conclusion that she killed him. With you, Mr. Moore, the sense of -gratitude takes a peculiar form. In a state of civilisation in which -logic prevailed, the breath would be crushed out of your body; sharing -the fate of other vermin, you would not be allowed to exist. -Unfortunately for you, this is not a moment in the world’s history in -which logic does prevail.” - -So I shook him--gently. I did not treat him to a thousandth part of -his deserts, for his sister’s sake. Yet, when I dropped him back on to -the floor, to judge from his looks and his behaviour, he might have -been used with considerable severity. He seemed to be under the -impression that I had murdered him. - -“That was good!” said Miss Adair. “I feel better.” - -I don’t know what prompted her to make such a remark, but I felt -better too. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - WHERE MISS MOORE WAS GOING - -It was a relief to cease breathing the atmosphere of an apartment -which was contaminated by the presence of Mr. Tom Moore. At least, -that was what I felt when I was being driven with Miss Adair towards -Imperial Mansions. Apparently that was her own feeling. - -“Nice sort of brother that. He’s a man.” - -“But what a sister! She’s a woman.” - -She seemed to suspect me of a satirical intention. - -“I don’t fancy, Mr. Ferguson, that all women are built exactly on -Bessie’s lines.” - -“Would that they were. Miss Moore is of the stuff of which our mothers -should be made.” - -She looked at me a little sideways; I was conscious of it, though I -myself looked straight ahead. - -“Are you married, Mr. Ferguson?” - -I do not know why she should have asked me such a question at that -particular moment, nor why the blood heated my cheeks. I answered -shortly: - -“No. I am not so fortunate.” - -“Ah! I shouldn’t be surprised if you were so fortunate, a little later -on.” - -Her tone conveyed a world of meaning; though what was its -signification I could not tell. I suspected her of hinting at -something which I should resent; but how to set about the discovery of -what she meant I did not know. She continued: - -“Suppose--I say suppose, just for the sake of argument--suppose it -turns out that Bessie has killed this--man, I wonder what would -happen.” - -“I decline to suppose the impossible.” - -“But how can you say that it’s impossible? You’re not in a position to -judge; you know nothing of her character, her disposition. She’s a -stranger--to you.” - -“I know enough of her to be sure that she is incapable of anything -unworthy.” - -“But how do you know?--my dear sir, how? From what you tell me, she -hasn’t said an intelligent thing to you; she’s been in a condition of -_non compos mentis_ ever since you set eyes upon her. After an hour’s -exchange of conversational bonbons with a lunatic woman, how can you -tell what she’s like when she’s sane?” - -“Miss Adair, if you are coming as Miss Moore’s friend, be her friend; -if not, I will stop the cab--you shall go back again.” - -She was silent for a second or two. I suspected her of stifling a -smile. - -“Thank you. You need not stop the cab.” She looked at me, mischief in -her eyes. “I believe, Mr. Ferguson, that you’re a Scotchman.” - -There is Scotch blood in my veins; I did not see why she should charge -it against me as a fault. I told her so. She laughed outright. Miss -Adair was a charming woman, but I will own that I was glad when we -reached our destination. She was in a provoking mood, as she showed by -the remark she made as she got out of the cab. - -“Now to interview this ideal conception of what our mothers should -be.” - -I did not reply. I followed her into the lift. - -“The top floor,” I said. - -But as we were passing the first floor, she started from her seat. - -“There’s Bessie!” she cried. - -From where I sat, as I turned my head, I was just in time to see my -last night’s visitor vanish round the corner of the staircase. We were -still ascending. I told the lift-man to return. When he had done so, -and we were out upon the landing, the lady was already some distance -along the corridor. She had passed my rooms, and was moving rapidly -towards No. 64. - -“Where is she going?” asked Miss Adair. “Bessie!” - -Her call went unheeded. Apparently the other did not hear. She -continued to hasten from us as if she were making for a particular -goal, with a well-defined purpose in view. I thought it probable that -the dead man’s body was still somewhere in his chambers, and certainly -all the plain evidences of the tragedy would have been studiously left -untouched. - -“Quick!” I exclaimed. “She doesn’t know what she is doing; she is -going to Lawrence’s room, where he lies murdered. We must stop her -before she gets there.” - -We hurried in pursuit, but had only gone a few yards when some one -caught me by the arm. I had previously realised that some one else was -standing in the corridor, but my attention had been too much engrossed -by Miss Moore to permit of my noticing who it was. I now perceived -that it was Hume. He gripped my arm with what seemed unnecessary -force, his countenance betraying a degree of agitation of which I had -not thought him capable. - -“Ferguson!” he cried. “Miss Adair! What is Miss Moore doing here?” - -His recognition surprised me, even at such a moment. - -“Do you know her?” - -“I believe I have that pleasure.” His words sounded like a sneer, they -were so bitterly uttered. “But what’s the meaning of it all? I spoke -to her, but she passed without a sign of recognition. What’s the -matter with her? She looks ill; where’s she going?” - -“She’s going to Lawrence’s room.” - -“Ferguson!” The increased pressure of his grasp showed that his -strength was greater than I imagined. - -“What’s she--going there for?” - -“My business is to stop her going at all, not to stand here answering -idiotic questions.” - -I broke from him. The delay, brief though it had been, was sufficient -to baffle my intentions. Miss Moore had arrived at No. 64. A policeman -was standing without, seemingly acting as guardian of the portal. - -“Is this the room in which Mr. Edwin Lawrence was killed?” - -Although I was still at some distance from her, I could hear her ask -the question with the direct simplicity of a little child. The officer -stared at her as if he could not make her out. - -“Yes, miss. But you can’t go in; my orders are to admit no one without -instructions. What’s your name and your business?” - -“Let me pass!” - -Putting out her arm, touching him on the chest, she waved him aside -with an imperious gesture, as if she were a sovereign queen. In an -instant she was through the door. I was on him directly she had passed -from sight. - -“You idiot! Why did you let her enter?” - -The man seemed bewildered. - -“Let her! There wasn’t much letting about it. For a lady she’s about -as cool a hand as ever I saw.” - -He perceived that my intention was to follow. - -“Now then, none of that! You can’t go in there! Don’t you hear me say -it?” - -“You ass!” - -I must have taken him by the shoulders more vigorously than I -intended; he went spinning down the passage until the wall brought him -to a standstill. Then I went after Miss Moore into the dead man’s -room, Miss Adair and Hume hard upon my heels. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - IN THE ONE ROOM--AND THE OTHER - -Edwin Lawrence was one of the most finical men I had ever met on the -subject of draughts. A properly ventilated apartment set him -shivering, even in the middle of summer. The faintest suspicion of a -healthy current of air made him turn up the collar of his coat. No -room could be too stuffy for him. All his doors and windows he -screened with heavy hangings. Behind the curtains which veiled the -entrance into his dining-room I lingered, for a moment, to glance -between the voluminous folds. Miss Moore was standing about the centre -of the room. Something in the expression of her face, and in her -attitude, caused me to hesitate. I checked the advance of Miss Adair -and Hume, who pressed on me behind. - -“Wait!” I whispered. “I want to see what she is going to do.” - -I would rather have been unaccompanied; Hume’s society in particular I -could have done without. But I could hardly induce him to withdraw -without disturbing the girl within. That, all at once, I felt -indisposed to do. At any and every risk I wanted light; to bring her -back into the full possession of her reason. It needed but a brief -glance to perceive that, in her present environment, she might pass -through some sort of crisis which would bring about the result I so -ardently desired. The constable had followed us into the room. He -showed a disposition to require our retreat. I took him by the -shoulder. - -“Be still, man; you will do your duty best by holding your tongue.” - -He perceived that there was reason in what I said. He held his tongue, -and I held his shoulder. - -Miss Moore was looking round as if something in the appearance of the -room struck a chord in her memory, and she was endeavouring to -discover what it was. She put her hand up to her forehead with the -gesture with which I had become familiar. - -“I have been in this room before--surely I have. I seem to know it all -quite well; but I can’t think when I saw it, or how. I can’t make it -out at all.” - -She was glancing about her with bewildered eyes, as if seeking for -some familiar object which would serve as a clue towards the solution -of the puzzle. At last something arrested her attention; it was the -tell-tale stain upon the carpet. She was standing within a yard or two -of the spot on which I had discovered Lawrence lying. His body was -gone, but his blood remained behind--a lurid disfigurement of the -handsome floorcloth. She started at it. - -“What is it?” She stooped down; she touched it with her finger tips; -an odd little tremor seemed to come into her voice. “It--it’s dry. Why -shouldn’t it be dry? What--what is it?” Still stooping, she covered -her face with her hands, as if struggling to rouse her dormant memory. -“It seems to bring something back to me. Something--something horrid. -What can it be? Oh!” - -She started upright, with a little exclamation. A new look came on her -face; a suggestion of fear, of horror. She was all at once on the -alert, as if in expectation of something of which she had cause to be -afraid. - -“This is where Mr. Edwin Lawrence was killed--killed!” Again that look -of puzzlement. “That means that he was--murdered! Murdered! He fell -like that.” - -She made a sudden movement, as if to hurl herself headlong to the -floor, which was so realistic that I started forward to save her from -a fall. It was only a feint; in an instant she was back in her -original position. - -“Let me see how it was. He was here, and I was there.” - -She moved from one place to another, as if endeavouring to recall a -scene in which she had taken part. It seemed to come back to her in -fragments. - -“I said, ‘I’ll kill you;’ because I felt like killing him. And -then--then he laughed. He said, ‘Kill me! How will you be better off -for that?’ And that made me worse. I made up my mind that--that I’d -kill him.” - -She paused. I shuddered, clutching the curtains tighter. Although I -did not turn to look at them, I knew that there was something strange -on the faces of Miss Adair and Hume; that even the constable was moved -to a display of unusual interest. A faint whisper reached me from the -lady: - -“Stop her! Don’t let her go on!” - -I was conscious of a weakness in my throat, which made my voice sound -as if I were hoarse, as I whispered a reply. - -“I shan’t attempt to stop her. I shall let her say all that she has to -say. I’m not afraid.” - -I felt her pull at my coat sleeve, as a dog might do to show its -sympathy. - -The girl within continued. She had put her hands up to her brow again, -and seemed battling with her torpid faculties. Through all that -followed, in spite of the emotion which sometimes would grip me by the -throat, I was conscious of the singular quality of her beauty, which -caused it to increase as her agitation grew. Strangely out of keeping -with the dreadful nature of some of the things she said was the air of -innocence which accompanied them. She depicted herself as playing a -leading part in a hideous tragedy, with the direct simplicity of a -little child who confesses to faults of whose capital importance it -has not the faintest notion. - -“Did I kill him? Did I? Not then--no, not then. Then he came in, and -it began all over again, right from the beginning; and--we quarrelled. -We both said we would kill him, both of us; and he laughed. The more -we said that we would kill him the more he laughed. And that--that -made us worse. Then--then it came in. It! It!” - -She shuddered. A look of abnormal terror came on her face. She covered -her hands, uttering cries of panic fear. - -“Don’t! Don’t! I won’t! I won’t! You mustn’t make me, you mustn’t! -Don’t let it come near me! Don’t let it touch me! I can’t bear to -think of its touching me! Oh!” - -With a gasp, uncovering her eyes, she stared, affrightedly, at -something which she seemed to see in front of her. - -“What is it? I’m not afraid. Why should I be afraid? There is nothing -the matter. I am not so easily frightened. I said I would kill him, -but not like that, not like that. Did I say I’d kill him? Yes. And I -did! I did! But I didn’t mean to. Did I mean to? I don’t know. Perhaps -I meant to. He says I meant to, and perhaps he knows.” - -She stood staring in front of her, with blank, unmeaning gaze. Then, -giving herself a little shake, she seemed to wake out of a sort of -dream; and to be surprised at finding herself where she was. - -“What is the matter with me? Am I going mad? This is the room, and -yet, although I know it, I can’t think what room it is. Something -happened to me here which haunts me; and though I’m afraid to try to -think what it was, I can’t help trying. Why did I come here? It was -very silly. It was because he--he told me that--Edwin Lawrence was -killed here. - -“Edwin Lawrence? What had that man to do with me? Lawrence? I feel as -if I ought to know the name. There were two of them, and one--one was -killed. Oh, I remember all! I can hear that horrid noise. I can see -the knives--the knives! And I can see the blood, as he falls right -down upon his face, and the hack, hack, hacking! I didn’t do it! I -didn’t do it! Did I--do it?” - -She looked about her with an agony of appeal which it was terrible to -witness. My heart sank within my breast. At that moment I could not -have gone to her even had I tried. - -“Let me see--how did it happen? He stood here, and--the other laughed; -and then there came the knife--the long, gleaming knife--and struck -him in the back; and he looked round, and--I saw his face. His face! -What a face! It was as if he were looking into hell. Don’t look at -me--not like that. I can’t help you! It’s too late! Turn your face -away; don’t let me see it; it isn’t fair. It was the devil did it--the -devil! It wasn’t I. And then it took him by the throat with a dozen -hands, and with a hundred knives cut at his face, until, before my -eyes, I saw him losing his likeness to a man. And then it loosed him, -and the great knife struck him from the back, and he fell on his -face--what was his face, and then the hack, hack, hacking! And all the -time that horrid noise.” - -She held up her arms in an anguish of supplication. - -“Oh Lord, in what have I offended that this thing should come upon me? -If I have sinned, surely my punishment is greater than my sin. That -you should lay this burden on me, to bear for ever, and for ever, and -for ever! Take it from me, let me wake to find it is a dream--the -nightmare of a haunted night! For if it should be true, if it should -be true, what is there for me but the torture fires of an eternal -hell? Have mercy on me, Lord, have mercy!” - -She broke into a paroxysm of sobbing. She shed no tears, hers were dry -sobs; but it seemed as if they were tearing her to pieces. Then they -ceased. Again a shudder went all over her, and again she seemed to -come back to a curious wakefulness, out of a fevered dream. - -“I’m not well; I can’t be; I wish I were. It is as if I were two -persons, and each keeps losing the other. Can there be two persons in -one body? My brain seems blurred--as if it were in two parts. When I -am using one part, the other--the other’s all confused. It’s not as it -should be. I feel sure that I haven’t always been like this; something -must have happened to make me so. When I try to think what it is, I’m -afraid; and yet I can’t help trying. I know--I know it was in this -room it happened; but what could it have been? What brought me to this -room at all? When was it that I came? - -“There’s something in my head that I can’t catch hold of--it keeps -eluding me. If I only could get hold of it, I’d understand--I’m sure I -should.--What would it be that I should understand? I’m afraid to -think! It’s awful that I should be afraid of what would come to me if -understanding came, especially as I want it so much to come. I seem to -be haunted; is it by a vision, or by something which really happened? -I wish I could sit down and quietly think it out. If I could put the -pieces of the puzzle together I might know what it means. But I can’t; -I’m all restless; I can’t keep still. - -“Why is it that I am always seeing this man lying dead upon the floor? -Why do I seem to be striking at his back? It is so strange. It is not -a knife I’m striking with, not a common knife; it is something -different--and worse. It comes out of nothing; and, all the time, -there’s the noise. It is not I who make the noise, no, I don’t -speak--I can’t--I daren’t--it’s It. But it keeps on strike, strike, -striking, and the blood all comes upon my cloak. I know I had a cloak -on, I remember how it kept getting in my way. And then--he falls. And -that’s all--until it begins all over again, and I am standing in a -room, in the moonlight, and he sits up in bed and looks at me--he, my -friend.” - -She held out her hands in front of her, with a pleasant inflection on -the final word. - -“And I can’t think of what took place before. I feel that I ought to -know who I am, and what brought me here; but I can’t quite lay my hand -on it. The people are there, but I can’t quite make out their faces, -or who they are, or what they want with me. They all look at me, and I -can hear them clapping. Then it all comes back to the man lying dead -upon the floor; that’s where it all seems to begin and end. I wonder -if I killed him. I wish I knew. It is so strange that I may have -killed him and yet not know. I know that he deserved to be killed, but -did I do it?” - -Glancing round, her eyes rested on the door in the opposite corner -which led into Lawrence’s bedroom. She crossed to it. - -“What’s in here?” - -She turned the handle and went in. I was at the door within five -seconds of her passing through it; Miss Adair, Hume, and the constable -still at my heels. We must have presented a spectacle which was not -without its comic side as we went scurrying across the carpet. But -what I saw as I looked into that bedchamber banished from my mind all -thoughts of the incongruous; it must, for the time being, have -paralysed the muscles of the body; or I do not think that I should -have remained for even so long as I did a silent witness of that -piteous scene. - -One of the first things I realised was the presence in the room of -Inspector Symonds. He, in company with a colleague, was submitting the -contents of the apartment to an official examination. As Miss Moore -entered the two men turned and stared--as well they might. She, on her -part, paid them no attention; they were at her back, in an alcove, -formed by the bay of the window, in which stood a bureau, whose -drawers they were ransacking. Her eyes saw one thing, and one thing -only--something which lay under a sheet upon the bed. - -“What’s that?” she asked herself. “What’s under the sheet?” - -She went towards the bed doubtfully, as if uncertain as to the -direction which her adventure might be taking. We watched her, silent. -The officials, I take it, were for the moment too much taken aback by -her appearance to know what to make of her. While for me, that was one -of the occasions in my life on which I lost my presence of mind. If I -had known what to do I could not have done it; my nerves were all in a -flutter, like so many loose strings. She went close up to the bed; -then stood still, looking down at the something whose shape she saw -outlined. - -“What is it under the sheet?” - -She lifted up a corner, then let it fall. “It’s the man I saw lying -dead.” I saw her tremble. A new look came on her face--half curiosity, -half awe. “I wonder if I should know him if I saw him now? If it would -all come back to me? I wonder if it would?” - -She turned down the sheet so as to expose the dead man’s head and -face. She stared at him with looks of growing horror. The terror of -the sight seemed to be gradually forcing itself upon her brain. -Stooping a little forward, she began to move farther and farther from -the bed. Her voice became husky. - -“I killed him; it hacked, hacked, hacked; his blood is on my cloak and -hands; the dead man lying on the floor.” - -She stopped. The something on the bed apparently had for her a -dreadful fascination. She seemed to be in two minds as to whether or -not to go close to it again, as if she would, and yet would not. Miss -Adair touched me on the arm. - -“Stop! Don’t let her go to it! Don’t!” - -Her words and touch woke me from a sort of trance. I awoke to a clear -realisation of the full horror of the situation--the young girl, with -her poor, numbed brain, trying experiments on the man just murdered. - -“You go to her,” I said. “See if she knows you.” - -It was time some friendly hand was interposed. Inspector Symonds and -his colleague showed signs of intervention on their own account, and -on lines of their own. Miss Moore began to turn slowly towards the -bed. - -“I wonder if I could make out where I struck him, and where it -hacked.” - -Miss Adair moved forward. - -“Bessie!” she cried. - -The girl turned and saw her, and appeared to struggle with the -darkness which was in her brain. The contest seemed physical as well -as mental; she swayed to and fro; I thought that she would fall. Then -reason got the upper hand; a wave of consciousness swept over her. She -drew herself upright, and she ran to Miss Adair. - -“Florrie!” she exclaimed. - -She burst into tears--real tears this time, not the dry sobs which, a -few minutes before, seemed to be tearing her to pieces. She cried like -a child. - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - WHAT WAS ON THE BED - -And we--we five men--remained for a moment or two, in silence, -looking on. In our breasts, I imagine, were widely different emotions. -Surprise, and something else, was, apparently, the dominant feeling of -Inspector Symonds and his colleague. They exchanged a few whispered -words. Then the Inspector made a movement towards Miss Moore, with -something in his mien I did not like. I placed myself in front of him. - -“Well, sir,” I inquired, “what do you want?” - -He looked at me askance; then turned towards the policeman who had -been placed in the passage to guard the outer door. - -“What is the meaning of these people being here? I thought I told you -to admit no one. Is this the way you obey orders?” - -The policeman was apologetic. - -“Well, sir, that young lady was through before I knew what she was up -to. Then this gentleman sent me flying down the passage, and the rest -of ’em got in; it was more than I could do to stop them.” - -The Inspector showed himself indisposed to accept his satellite’s -excuses. - -“Tell that for a tale, my man; you will hear of this again. I will -only have men with me who are able to carry out to the letter the -instructions I give them.” He addressed himself to me. “Mr. Ferguson, -if you are not careful you will get yourself into trouble. You appear -not to realise the serious nature of your conduct. It is not what I -should have expected from a gentleman in your position. Surely you -cannot wish to place yourself in opposition to the law?” - -“Thank you for your warning; and don’t you trouble yourself about my -wishes. Let me advise you not to step out of the four corners of your -province; men circumstanced as you are sometimes take liberties, which -is a mistake.” - -“Stand on one side, Mr. Ferguson. I do not take my instructions from -you. I wish to speak to that young lady.” - -“Then speak to her from where you are--though what you can have to say -to her is more than I am able to imagine. She is not well, and does -not want to be brought into too close contact with undesirable -strangers.” - -“Not well? What is the matter with her?” - -“I might reply by inquiring what affair that is of yours; but I don’t -mind informing you that she suffers from hallucinations.” - -“Hallucinations? Oh, they’re hallucinations, are they?” - -There was something in his tone for which I could have knocked him -down. He spoke to her across the room. - -“What is your name?” - -“My name? I don’t know what my name is.” - -“Not know your name? Come, that won’t do. Tell me what your name is.” - -“The lady does not know her name; do you not hear her say so? You will -doubt the lady’s word, Mr. Symonds, at your peril.” - -“Remove your hand; do you wish to dislocate my shoulder? You forget -your own strength, as well as other things, Mr. Ferguson. If you will -not tell me who this lady is, and she herself cannot, then I must -detain her till inquiries have been made.” - -“Detain her? What do you mean?” - -“This lady has forced her way into this room, and I have myself heard -her, with my own ears, accuse herself, at least, of participation in -the murder of this unfortunate man.” - -His colleague chimed in: “There can be no sort of doubt upon that -point. I heard her too. She said, ‘I killed him.’” - -He went to the other side of the bed, and replaced the sheet over the -dead man’s head and face. The policeman put in his word. - -“I beg your pardon, sir, but she’s been behaving in the most -extraordinary manner in the other room. It seems, from what she’s been -saying, and doing, that she was there when the gentleman was being -murdered, and she’s been acting it all over to herself again as it -were. Struck him with a great knife, she said she did.” - -“You heard her admit that she struck him with a knife?” - -“I did--more than once; and these two gentlemen, and that lady heard -her, too. She said that she meant to kill him all along; and then she -said she struck him in the back with a great knife, and he fell -forward on his face; and she acted how she struck him, and how he -fell.” - -“In face of that statement my duty’s plain; the lady must be -detained.” - -He was going on, but I cut him short. - -“Then I say that the lady shall not be detained; I will save you, Mr. -Symonds, from making one of the most serious mistakes you ever made in -your life. Miss Adair, escort the lady from the room. I will see that -no one touches her. Now, constable, out of the way.” - -I moved towards the policeman, who did not wait for me to touch him. -He slipped aside. The Inspector interposed. - -“Now, Mr. Ferguson, I warn you to be careful. May I ask you, Dr. Hume, -to explain to this gentleman what are the consequences of impeding the -police in the execution of their duty. You might also point out to him -how worse than futile such attempts always are.” - -Hume was standing near the door. Now he came into the middle of the -room. I was surprised by the alteration which had taken place in his -appearance since I had observed him last. He seemed to have all at -once grown old. Outwardly he was cool and calm; but I, who had some -knowledge of the man, perceived that he was making a strenuous effort -to retain the mastery of himself in face of some most unusual emotion. -He spoke with an exaggeration of his usual deliberative manner. - -“You are aware, Mr. Symonds, that I am not a likely person to -interfere with the police in the execution of their duty; but it -happens, in this case, that I am acquainted with this young lady, and -am sure that she has had no more to do with this crime than”--he -paused, he drew in his lips, as if to moisten them--“I have. The -account which your officer has given you of her behaviour in the -adjoining room is very far from being an accurate representation. She -is at present suffering from an obscure mental disease. If you were to -proceed to arrest her you would run an imminent risk of permanently -disturbing the balance of her brain, and of driving her stark mad. The -act, and the responsibility for the consequences of the act, would be -yours. Let me finish, Inspector. I quite understand that if you were -to allow her to pass entirely from your purview you would be assuming -a weighty responsibility in a different direction. I am therefore -prepared to give you my personal guarantee that she shall remain at -your disposal as witness, or in any other capacity, until it has been -made plain that she has had no connection whatever with this most -unfortunate affair.” - -“First of all, what is the lady’s name, who is she, and where does she -live?” - -“She is Miss Bessie Moore, the well-known actress, and she lives with -this other lady, Miss Florence Adair, at 22, Hailsham Road, Brompton.” - -“I’m not much of a theatre-goer, but I have heard of Miss Bessie -Moore. I wasn’t aware that she was----” He finished his sentence by -touching his forehead with his finger. - -“I am prepared to certify that, at present, she is mentally incapable; -and that to place her under arrest would be to imperil not only her -sanity, but her life.” - -“Very good. And in the presence of these witnesses you undertake to -produce her whenever she’s required.” - -“I do.” - -“And does Mr. Ferguson join you in that undertaking?” I informed him -that I did. “And where is Miss Moore going now?” - -“To her own home.” - -“One of our men ought to go with her.” - -“One of your men will do nothing of the kind,” I observed. - -Hume said the same thing with a greater flow of language. - -“If you give me notice of Miss Moore’s being required, for any purpose -whatever, I will undertake to produce her within the hour. More, if I -have reason to suspect my capacity to continue that guarantee I will -advise you on the instant.” - -“Good. On that understanding Miss Moore is at liberty to go--for the -present.” - -We four went out of the room, the two women in front, Hume and I -behind. Miss Moore had not spoken while the argument was being carried -on with the inspector. When we reached the corridor she turned to me. - -“Where am I going to be taken? I want to speak to you.” - -“You had better return with Miss Adair to Mrs. Peddar’s room--for the -present, at any rate. I will come to you immediately.” - -“You will be sure to come?” - -She laid her hand upon my arm. - -“Certain. I will be there almost as soon as you are.” - -Hume came forward. - -“I also wish to speak to you.” - -“You? No! I don’t wish to speak to you--not to you!” - -She shrank from him as if he had been some leprous thing. When they -had gone he turned to me with eyes in which there was a strange -something, whose meaning, just then, I did not attempt to decipher; -though I was dimly conscious, as my eyes looked into his, of an odd -sensation of wonder as to whether the doctor himself might not be -going mad. - -“What is it which actuates your moves in this game which you are -playing? To save your neck, do you propose to hang her, as well as -Philip Lawrence?” - -That is what he said to me. To save my neck! The words rang in my ears -as I mounted towards the housekeeper’s room. They were to me as the -germ of an idea. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - SHE AND I - -The girl was changed. I perceived it as soon as I was in Mrs. -Peddar’s room. She stood behind the table, and, as I entered, turned -her face away. Her attitude suggested doubt, hesitation, even shame. -It was so different to the spontaneous burst of friendship which, -hitherto, when she saw me, had brought her to my side. - -Miss Adair was seated with her hands lying open on her knee; in her -bearing there was also dubiety, and in Mrs. Peddar’s as, leaning -against her sideboard, she fidgeted with the fringe of her black -apron. The air was so charged with the spirit of uncertainty that, as -soon as I entered, it affected me. We each of us seemed to be -unwilling to meet the other’s glances. It was with an effort I broke -the uncomfortable silence. - -“I don’t think, Miss Moore, that I should lose any time in going home -with Miss Adair.” - -“Going home? Where is my home? Yes, I know I ought to know, and I do -know more than I did, but--I can’t just find it.” - -“Never mind about that, Miss Adair will see you’re all right. Now put -your hat on, and off you go. I’m afraid that I must hurry you.” - -I was thinking of Inspector Symonds down below, and how extremely -possible it was that he might change his mind. She made no movement, -but continued looking down on to the floor, her brow all creased in -lines of pain. - -“Do you think--I--killed that man?” - -“I am sure that you did not.” - -She glanced up at me, her brow smoothed out, light in her eyes. - -“You are sure? Oh? What makes you sure?” - -“My own common sense. I have seen your brother, and I have heard from -him what was the errand which took you to Edwin Lawrence. I can -understand how your mind was strained, and what a very little more was -needed to make that strain too much. But that in what took place you -did nothing of which you have cause to be ashamed, I am convinced.” - -“But she thinks I did it, and so does she; and--I’m not sure.” - -She pointed first to Miss Adair and then to Mrs. Peddar. - -“You’re dreaming. Miss Adair knows you too well to suppose the -incredible.” - -“But she does think I did it. Don’t you?” - -In reply Miss Adair put her elbows on the table and her face on her -hands, and burst into tears. - -“Bessie!” she cried. - -I was dumfounded. - -“You see. And she thinks so too. And that man, he thinks so; he wanted -to lock me up. Will he--lock me up?” - -She asked the question with a little gasp, so expressive of loneliness -and terror, that it cut me to the heart. I tried to speak with a -confidence I did not feel. - -“The police are famous for their blunders. In cases such as this, if -they had their way, they’d lock up every one they could lay their -hands on. There’s one question I want to ask you before you go--was -there no one else present in that room last night except you and Edwin -Lawrence?” - -“Yes--you were there.” - -“I!” - -She said it with a directness which struck me as with a crowbar. - -“Yes, you were there. I thought, when I saw you sitting up in bed, in -the moonlight, that I had seen your face before, and I’ve been -thinking so all the time; and now it’s all come back to me--you were -there. Don’t you remember that you came into the room?” - -She spoke with a touch of sudden excitement. Mrs. Peddar resented her -words with unusual heat. - -“You wicked girl! To say such a thing, after all that he has done for -you! You’ll be saying next that I was there.” - -I endeavoured to appease my enthusiastic partisan. - -“Gently, Mrs. Peddar. I am not at all sure that what Miss Moore says -is not correct. I, too, suffered last night from dreams. I dreamed -that I went to Edwin Lawrence’s rooms, and saw him murdered; whether I -saw with the actual or the spiritual eye, I cannot tell; but, in any -case, all that I did see was seen as in a glass darkly.” - -“Did you see me?” - -“I cannot be certain. I saw some one who I now believe to have been -you.” - -“Did you see It?” - -“It?” - -“The--the creature--the dreadful thing!” - -“My vision was blurred; I saw nothing plain, it had all the -indistinctness of a nightmare, but--I was oppressed by the -consciousness of some hideous presence in the room. What was--the -thing?” - -“I don’t know; I can’t think. I’m afraid to try! It did it all.” - -“Wasn’t it--a wild beast? It made a noise like one, or--was it my -imagination?” - -“The dreadful noise! I’ve heard it ever since. I hear it all the -time--I hear it now. Can’t you--hear it now?” - -She looked about her with frightened eyes. - -“That certainly is your imagination; there’s not a sound. But was -there no one else there in the room besides you, and Edwin Lawrence, -and--I?” - -“There was the other man.” - -“Was that other man his brother?” - -“I don’t just know; I can’t quite think. But, if I saw him again, I -should know him, I feel sure I should, as I’ve known you.” - -“Did they quarrel, the two men?” - -She shook her head. - -“It will all come back to me, perhaps, piece by piece; but not yet, -not yet. But you were there, and you saw I did not kill him?” - -“What I saw I cannot tell; as with you it was all a blur. But that you -did not kill him I am as sure as that the sky is above.” - -“I am so glad. You have made me so happy.” - -“It needs but a little thing to make your happiness.” - -“What is your name?” - -“You have heard it more than once. My name is Ferguson--John -Ferguson.” - -“John!” Returning to her former self, she said it with the simplicity -of a little child. She nestled close up to me, as if for comfort. My -pulses throbbed. “Why is it that I feel safe when I am near you, and -that the nearer I am to you the safer I feel?” - -“God grant that you may always feel safe when you are near to me.” - -My voice was husky. - -“I believe that I always shall feel safe when you are near; I believe -I always shall.” - -She looked up at me with eyes in which there was something which -seemed to burn into my soul. It was with difficulty I kept myself from -putting my arm about her. When I spoke, it was awkwardly enough, and -with a lumbering choice of ungainly words. - -“The tangle is greater than I thought. It seems to be drawing us -together. God moves in a mysterious way, and it maybe His purpose -that, under this blood-red shadow, our lives shall draw closer to each -other. For my part, I am content.” I waited for her to speak; she was -still; but she rested one hand upon my arm, and I trembled. “Don’t let -yourself be troubled by fantastic fears. Rest assured that your heart -is stainless as are your hands. I know. Look up, the light is coming! -Your innocence will be made plain to all the world, and to yourself. -For it seems that of yourself you’re chief doubter.” - -“I did doubt; I’m easier now. I don’t doubt at all when you are near. -I wonder why?” - -“I wonder, too. But, come, there are a dozen things which I must do. -You must be bundled off. Mrs. Peddar, where is this young lady’s hat?” - -Mrs. Peddar passed into an inner room, presently returning with a hat. -While its owner was putting it on, Miss Adair came up to me. I had -been aware that the two women had been watching us with wide-open eyes -and gaping mouths; now one of them gave partial expression to her -feelings. - -“What on earth is there between you two? Have you known each other all -your lives, or did you meet for the first time last night?” - -“That is a question for the metaphysicians. I seem to have known her -all my life.” - -“And has she known you all hers? Is that what I’m to think?” - -“There is one thing you are not to think--you are not to think that -she had any hand in what was done.” - -“But it’s all so awful! It’s all come upon me in an instant: it’s -taken me unawares. What am I to think after what she said, and did, in -that room?” - -“You are to be sure that she is as innocent as a child.” - -“But what am I to think? It seems now that you both were there. I have -no doubt whatever that the man quite deserved being killed; if she -didn’t kill him, then did you?” - -“God forbid!” - -Miss Moore had her hat on. She made a discovery. - -“I had a cloak. I feel sure I had a cloak. Where’s it gone?” - -“Never mind about your cloak; it’s warm enough to-day, you’ll be able -to do quite well without it.” - -I caught Miss Adair’s glance; plainly she remembered what I had said -about the condition of that garment; there was renewed suspicion in -her eye. I turned to Mrs. Peddar. - -“We don’t want to go through the main entrance; isn’t there another -way?” - -“There is the service lift, and there are the service stairs.” - -“The very thing; show us where they are.” - -She showed us where they were; and we three went down the servants’ -staircase, through a back door, into a side street, no one saying us -nay. I saw the two girls into a cab. As they were starting Miss Moore -leaned her head out. She looked at me with eyes which were, to me, -like magnets. Her lips formed a single word: - -“John!” - -As the hansom drove off, and, turning the corner, passed from sight, I -felt as if something had gone out of my life. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - HE AND I - -As I returned to my chambers my whole being seemed to be a -battlefield on which conflicting thoughts and feelings were fighting -to a finish. I had not supposed that my nature could have been utterly -disorganized by occurrences such as those which had come crowding upon -me during the last few hours. - -I am a hard man. My life has been lived, for the most part, in odd -corners of the world, where, single-handed, I have fought the fight -for fortune; in places where human life is not held of much account, -and where one would have thought as little of killing such a man as -Edwin Lawrence appeared to have been, as destroying any other noxious -animal. I have ever been a fighter. Men have called me “Fighting -John.” I have had to defend my own life, and have not hesitated, when -circumstances required, to take the lives of others. I learnt, long -ago, that there are occasions when killing is not alone the best, but -the only cure. - -But I have had nothing to do with women. I have never been on familiar -terms with one of them. I have always been aware that they are better -than I, and that consciousness has made me shy of them, as of a -church. But while one knows that a church is a place for sinners, -one’s sense of decency tells one that evil ought not to come into -contact with a woman. So I have kept clear. Until that night. - -Now Providence alone knew what had happened. Since I had seen her -standing in the moonlight at my window, the foundations of my life -seemed to have been going under. It was absurd; yet true. What could -she care for such as I--an adventurer from the four corners of the -world, soiled with something of the grime from each of them. What -right had I to think of such as she--a young girl, in the first -fulness of her wondrous beauty, mentally, morally, socially far above -my reach; the idol of the town, with, at her feet, some of the -greatest in the land. It was midsummer madness; which, in my case, was -the less excusable since, for me, it was the time of autumn. - -But she had called me “John.” That was in her hour of sorrow, of which -I had taken advantage. The hour would pass, and then I should not even -be “Mr. Ferguson,” but simply one of the crowd in the street. I might -take a seat at the theatre, to watch her play, but she would not even -glance to see if I was in it. That would be a black hour for me. But -with her all would be well. - -But would the hour of her sorrow quickly pass? Back in my own room I -tried to think; but, like her, I was afraid. I had been an idiot to -let her return to Hailsham Road. What kind of an ass would he be who -placed his trust in Inspector Symonds. I had had my experiences of the -police. In all countries of the world they were the same--fools when -they were not knaves. If he, or any of his myrmidons, laid a hand on -her, what could I do? I was in a country where, even if you knocked a -policeman down, it was regarded as a crime. And Miss Adair--she had -her doubts. Great powers! what could the woman be made of, to have -lived so long with such an angel, and yet doubt her perfect innocence! -Apart from such thick-headedness on the part of a woman of common -sense, it was dreadful to think of the girl living in an atmosphere of -suspicion, when complete confidence was the one thing needful. - -Why had I let her return to Hailsham Road? She would have been safer -with Mrs. Peddar, or--God forgive me for thinking that she would have -been safer still with me. - -On what did the woman found her doubts? And the Inspector his? That -was the mischief. On the surface the thing looked doubtful; if I were -to speak of certain things, I knew they might look worse. A dozen knew -now that she was present in the room. She could be dragged into the -witness-box, at any rate, and then--then what might she not be forced -to say. She had gone with unfriendly intentions; he had been killed -while she was there; she ran away without a whisper to any one of what -had been done. What deductions might not be drawn, by an unfriendly -critic, from that bare statement of the facts. I dared not think of -the risks she would run till all the truth was told. - -“What is the truth?” I cried. - -Unconsciously, I spoke aloud. Though, had I thought, I should not have -hesitated, since I supposed I was alone. But, no sooner had I spoken, -than my bedroom door was opened, and some one stood on the threshold, -looking out at me. - -“It’s you, is it? Come here!” - -Hume was the speaker. He spoke and looked as if I were the intruder; -not he. His presence took me by surprise; so that at first, in my -bewilderment, I could only stare. Then I moved towards him. - -“What are you doing there?” - -“Come, and you shall see.” - -I pushed past him into the room. As I looked round, in my amazement at -the man’s audacity, I was speechless. The whole place was in -confusion. He had been turning my belongings topsy-turvy--searching -drawers, examining cupboards, scrutinising everything of mine which he -could lay his hands upon. My property was scattered everywhere--on -chairs, on tables, on the floor. On the rail of the bed were laid my -pyjamas and a towel; and on the bed itself was displayed, at its -widest, the plum-coloured cloak. - -When I realised that he had unearthed that piece of apparently damning -evidence, it was enough. - -“You hound!” - -I would have taken him by the throat; but, springing back, he pointed -a revolver at my face. - -“Stop that! I’ve had to deal with men like you before, John Ferguson. -Attempt to touch me, and I’ll save the hangman his pains.” - -I, also, on previous occasions had had to deal with men like him; more -dangerous men than he was, free from all the restraints of -civilisation, whom use had made handy with a pistol. There was -something in the way in which he gripped his weapon which told me that -he was not yet acquainted with all its capabilities. I dodged; struck -up; the pistol went flying through the air. I took him by the waist; -lifted him off his feet; held him tight; and shook him. If you have -the trick of it, it is surprising how quickly you can shake the breath -clean out of a man’s body, or, if you wish to go so far, by shaking -him you can break his back, and make an end. My desires were less -extensive. I shook him till I had him quiet; then I lowered him till -his face was on a level with mine. - -“Now, Dr. Hume, please tell me why I shouldn’t kill you?” - -He could but gasp, and that with pain. - -“You can--kill me--if you like. You killed him. Killing’s--your line.” - -“And what’s your line? Sneaking, like a thief, into a man’s room, and -prying into his possessions like some dirty nigger? However, since you -are here, we’ll come to an understanding, you and I, before you go.” - -I dropped him on to the floor, where he lay like a log, struggling to -get back some of his breath. I picked up his revolver. It was a natty -little thing, though not of the kind one carries where a gun is one of -the chief necessities of existence. There a gun, to be worth anything, -should send a bullet through an inch board at the distance of a dozen -yards; it was all his would do to send a bullet through the skin of a -man, I locked the door, and I waited for him to get his breath again. - -“When you are ready, Dr. Hume.” - -I sat and watched him. He had followed me with his eyes as I moved -about the room; starting as I picked up his pistol. Now he returned me -glance for glance. He was getting the better of his breathlessness; -and presently raised himself to a sitting posture. - -“You should be in a freak museum, Ferguson.” - -“Indeed. Why?” - -“You’re a prodigy of bone and muscle.” - -“You should remember it.” - -“I’ve but just now made the discovery. I shall have to refurbish my -faith in the labours of Hercules and the story of Samson.” He was, as -it were, arranging himself inside his clothes. “I don’t resent your -physical configuration; it’s educative, as showing what the strength -of a man may be. It’s a pity you should be a----Are you only a fool, -or are you something else as well?” He stood up, still arranging -himself inside his clothes. He pointed to the plum-coloured cloak. -“What’s this?” - -“It’s what I’m going to wring your neck for.” - -“Is that so? I don’t doubt your capacity, but why exercise it in this -particular instance?” - -“Then you must satisfy me that, though the heavens fall, no one -outside this room shall ever learn there is such a garment in -existence--and that you’ll find it difficult to do.” - -“You wish me to tell no one of what I’ve found?” - -“It’s not an affair of a wish.” - -“Ferguson, you’re stark mad.” - -“You’ve told me so before. You’re a specialist. You should know that a -homicidal lunatic is not the sort to trifle with. Label me like that.” - -“But you’re mad in the wrong direction.” - -“What’s the right direction to be mad?” - -“That cloak’s Miss Moore’s.” - -“You’re a liar.” - -“Let me inform you that to save her from harm I’d give my life.” - -“Say that again.” - -“To save her from harm I’d give my life. It sounds like bombast, but -it’s plain truth.” - -“Hume, I may be mad, but I’m not so mad as you think.” - -“You’re madder, if you don’t believe me I don’t know why I should make -a confidant of you, of all men; but there are illogical moments in -which men feel constrained to strip themselves bare. Perhaps this is -such a moment in my life. Miss Moore is the only woman I ever loved. -That’s a line from a play, but it’s true, for all that.” - -“Why do you say it to me?” - -“What’s the meaning of that cloak being in your wardrobe?” - -“Why did you go to my wardrobe to look for it?” - -“Man, I wasn’t looking for that. I was looking for something with -which to hang you. And I found this, and those. This is a towel. -There’s blood on it. See! The marks of bloody fingers. You wiped your -hands on it when, last night, you came from Lawrence’s room.” - -“That is what you make of it. I see.” - -“Those are the pyjamas which you were wearing. There are stains on -them. See here, on the front of the jacket; on the breeches, too.” - -“What is the deduction which you draw from that?” - -“I don’t know. I did know. But now I don’t.” - -His tone was one of intense dejection. He looked towards the bed. I -considered for a moment. Then I spoke. - -“You’re quite right, Hume. The cloak is Miss Moore’s.” - -He turned round quickly. - -“Do you want to hang her now instead of Philip? Or do you want to hang -them both?” - -“You talk too much of hanging. I mean you and I to understand each -other before you leave this room; and we shan’t get there by blinking -facts. I say that the cloak’s Miss Moore’s. You perceive that it’s -caked with blood.” - -“I see.” - -“I believe that blood to be Edwin Lawrence’s. The proof is easy; you -have only to subject it to a microscopical examination you will know. -The stain on my pyjamas came off her cloak. That on the towel was -where she wiped her hands, not where I wiped mine. The water in which -she washed them I threw into the road. It was bright red. Not only -were her hands reeking wet, there were smears upon her face as well.” - -“Ferguson!” - -“Those are the facts. I’ve made it a rule of my life never to dodge a -fact which I don’t like; I hit at it. And it’s because I hit at those -facts that I know they don’t mean she killed him; I know she didn’t.” - -“How do you know?” - -I laughed. - -“Because I know her; perhaps you don’t.” - -“I’ve known her the better part of my life.” - -“And I only since last night, when she came through my window with -shining hands.” - -“But how can you know she didn’t, unless you know who did? Did you?” - -I laughed again. - -“I did not. Lawrence sharped me; I suspected it last night, now I’m -sure; but I shouldn’t have killed him merely because he was too -clever; at least, not like that. You’re a poor judge of character if -you suppose I should.” - -“I care nothing for you, or for your character. It’s of her I’m -thinking. She might have done it in a fit of temporary insanity.” - -“She might; but she didn’t.” - -“Then what was the meaning of her conduct in his room just now?” - -“You’re a mental pathologist; you should know better than I.” - -“It’s because I’m a mental pathologist that I--fear. Symonds suspects. -I shouldn’t be surprised if he arrests her within four and twenty -hours. He’ll hang her if he finds this cloak.” - -“Oh no, he won’t. Nor, if Symonds is the idiot you suppose--he may be, -since you’re a judge of idiots--will she remain long under arrest. I -shall free her.” - -Hume had been pacing up and down like an unquiet spirit. Now he -stopped to snarl at me like an angry wolf. - -“If you think brawn and muscle can prevail against the police you are -a fool.” - -“As it happens I am not a fool on those particular lines, because I -think nothing of the kind. I shall use other means to free her.” - -“What other means?” - -“I shall confess.” - -“But I thought you said you didn’t do it.” - -“Nor did I; nor did she. If Symonds must have a victim, better I than -she. To go to the gallows for her sake would be heaven well won.” - -Hume stared. I might have been shaking him again, his breath came so -hardly. - -“What--do you mean?” - -“My good Hume, don’t you be afraid for Miss Moore. I assure you she’s -in no danger.” - -“You say you only saw her for the first time last night.” - -“But that’s a century ago. A myriad things have taken place since, so -now it’s just as if I’d known her all my life.” - -He kept his head averted, looking at me sideways; it was the first -time he had shown an indisposition to meet me face to face. - -“It’s like that? I see.” He drew in his lips to moisten them. “A case -of the world well lost for her.” - -“You’ve hit it, Hume.” - -“Suppose, for illustration’s sake, that this and that were fitted -together so as to make it seem--only seem, you understand--that you -actually did kill Lawrence, what then?” - -“I don’t know what it is, but, in this instance, something seems to be -warping your natural intelligence, or I’m persuaded that you’d -perceive, as I perceive, that the truth will out, and that before very -long.” - -“Then am I to take it you’ll walk away with banners flying?” - -“I don’t know about the banners flying, but I’ll walk away.” - -“With her?” - -“You’ve no right to say that.” - -“And what right do you suppose you have to say what you’ve been -saying, when you know that she’s to me the light of my eyes, the -breath of my nostrils? when, these dozen years and more, since she was -a little child in little frocks, I’ve waited on her will, won for her -a place upon the stage I hate because she loved it, blazoned abroad -her fame, because to be famous was her pleasure, although I knew that -every cry of applause took her farther from me still, and farther! And -now you come and say that you saw her for the first time last night, -yet talk glibly of having known her all your life, and brag of being -ready to sacrifice yourself for her. Do you think if she were herself -she’d accept your sacrifice?--you speak of knowing her, and yet think -that? Go to!--But, see here, if you burn with a desire to make -yourself a scapegoat, I am willing.” - -“You are willing?” - -“She’ll never be. But if we put together here a little, there a -little, line upon line, we’ll make out your guilt so clearly that -there’s not a jury which wouldn’t see it, nor a judge who wouldn’t -hang you. Shall we arrange it between us, you and I?” - -“You are very good.” - -“That she’ll be in gaol by this time to-morrow is pretty positive; I -shouldn’t be surprised if Symonds was applying for a warrant at this -moment. If you think that you will free her by merely going and -saying, ‘I did it, it wasn’t she,’ you are under a delusion. She’ll -not be freed like that; they’ll need chapter and verse. You’ll have to -tell a plain tale plainly; how you planned the thing, how you did it, -how you sought to hide your guilt by throwing the blame of it on her. - -“Your tale will want corroboration; the support of independent -evidence. I could say a thing or two, with perfect truth, which would -go some way towards hanging you. Your concealment of the fact that you -were in the room would look ugly, if treated well, and there’s the -girl who saw you flying from it as if the devil were behind you. -There’s the tell-tale marks upon the towel, on the pyjamas; there are -a dozen things, without invention. And with--oh, we could manufacture -a good round tale which would bear the strictest investigation, and -which, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, would set her free for -ever. Shall we set about it now?” - -I was silent. - -“There’s some one knocking at my door.” - -Some one was beating a tattoo upon the panel. - -“So there is; and some one in a hurry, it would seem. Perhaps it’s -Symonds. If so, you might make a clean breast of it at once. I’ll -corroborate with what I know. Then she need never fear arrest at all.” - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - THE LETTER - -But it was not Symonds. It was a messenger-boy--an impertinent young -rascal. - -“Mr. John Ferguson? I thought every one was out, I’ve been knocking -for the last ten minutes.” - -“Have you indeed? I trust the delay has caused you no serious -inconvenience. Yes, I am Mr. John Ferguson.” - -“No answer.” - -He thrust an envelope into my hand, and, turning on his heel, was -about to march away. I caught him by the shoulder. - -“Pardon me--one second! From whom does this communication come?” - -“I say there’s no answer.” - -He wriggled in my grasp. - -“I hear you--still, if you could manage to wait for a moment, I think -it might be worth your while. Let me beg of you to enter.” - -Drawing him into the room, I shut the door. He surveyed me with -indignation. - -“My orders are that when there’s no answer I’m not to wait.” - -“Good boy! Always obey orders.” - -The address on the envelope was typewritten; as were the sentences on -the sheet of paper it contained. - - -“Because Edwin Lawrence is dead, don’t suppose that the £1880 are -paid. You have not hit on a new way to pay old debts. A knife in the -back is not a quittance. You are wrong if you suppose it is. Have the -money ready; hard cash--notes and gold; all gold preferred. NO CHEQUE. -Edwin Lawrence has left an heir; to whom all that he had belongs, your -debt among the rest. Be prepared to pay when asked. If the request has -to be made a second time it will come in a different form. - - “The Goddess.” - - -That was what the envelope contained--an anonymous letter. - -“Who sent this?” - -“I don’t know. I haven’t read it.” - -“Possibly not; and yet you might know who was the sender.” - -“I don’t see how. I’d just been on an errand right over to Finchley. -As soon as I came in that was given me. All I was told was that there -was no answer.” - -The messenger spoke in a tone of resentment, as if suffering from a -grievance. He was a small youth, with crisp black hair and sharp black -eyes; combativeness writ large all over him. - -“You didn’t see who brought this to the office?” - -“I did not.” - -“Where do you come from?” - -“Victoria.” - -“What’s your name?” - -“George Smith. Though I don’t see what that’s got to do with you.” - -“Then that only shows that your range of vision’s limited. Because, -Mr. George Smith, although there’s no answer to this little -communication, you’re likely to hear of it again. Good-day.” - -The young gentleman withdrew with something like a sniff of scorn. I -read the letter through again. As Hume stood watching me, his -curiosity got the upper hand. - -“What is it?” - -“I was wondering if I should tell you. I don’t see why not.” I handed -him the sheet of paper. He scanned it with eager eyes. “What do you -make of it?” - -“It is for me, rather, to put that question to you.” - -“I’ll tell you one thing I make of it--that the typewriter, from the -anonymous letter-writer’s point of view, is an excellent invention. In -the case of a written letter, one can occasionally guess what kind of -person it is from whom it comes; but, when it’s typewritten, the Lord -alone can tell.” - -“‘The Goddess.’ Does the signature convey no meaning to your mind? -Think.” - -“I’m thinking. The Goddess? I certainly don’t know any one who’s -entitled to write herself down like that. Let me look at the thing -again.” He returned me the sheet of paper. “This seems to suggest that -some one else is disposed to take a hand in the game--some person at -present unknown.” - -“But who knows that you owed Lawrence £1880? And--who knows how much -besides?” - -“Just so. I wonder!” - -Hume eyed me as if he were endeavouring to decipher, on my face, the -key to a riddle. - -“If some one applies to you for the money what shall you do?” - -“Hang him, or her, straight off. That is, I should hand the gentleman, -or lady, over to Symonds, with that end in view. Don’t you see what -such an application would imply? Lawrence was murdered within an hour -or two of our playing that game of cards. How comes any one to know -what was the amount he claimed to have won? No one saw him between the -finish of the game and his death, except the man who murdered him.” - -“Miss Moore saw him--and you.” - -“Are you suggesting that Miss Moore wrote this letter--or I?” - -“I see your point. You infer that whoever did write it killed -Lawrence, because it discloses knowledge which could only be in -possession of his murderer. There is something in the inference. But, -if the thing’s so plain, isn’t it an act of rashness to have written -you at all--rashness which is almost inconceivable?” - -“‘_De l’audace_’--you know the wise man’s aphorism. I don’t say the -thing is plain. On the contrary, I believe it’s more obscure than you -think. Granting that whoever wrote that letter killed Lawrence--and I -fancy you’ll find that is the case--the question is who wrote it. It’s -signed ‘The Goddess.’ I believe ‘The Goddess’ was the writer. Query, -who’s ‘The Goddess’? There’s the puzzle.” - -“Are you intentionally speaking in cryptograms? May I ask what you -mean?” - -“I’m not quite sure that I know myself. I don’t go so far as to say -that there is anything supernatural about the business, but--it’s -uncommonly queer.” - -“Supernatural! You had better make that suggestion to the police. The -English law does not recognise the supernatural in crime.” - -“Possibly not. You say it was a man, Symonds thinks it was a woman; I -believe both of you are wrong--that Lawrence was killed neither by a -man nor a woman. Who or what is ‘The Goddess’? Find that out, you’ll -have found the criminal!” - -His lips curled in an ironic smile. - -“I really wonder if you think that you can successfully play a game of -bluff with me.” - -I laughed. The man was so full of verjuice that he could not resist an -opportunity of squirting a drop or two in my direction. His intentions -had not been over and above friendly before. Now that the shadow of a -woman had come between us, I felt that he would stop at little which -would help him hang me. That my innocence might be shown was a matter -which would concern him not at all--so long as he had hung me first. - -While I hesitated what to answer, for, though, I hoped, at the proper -time, to take him by the neck and drop him from the window, my desire -was, in the mean time, to treat him with the utmost courtesy--some one -came rushing into the room. It was Turner, the night-porter. He seemed -to have been in the wars. He held his handkerchief to his nose, and -his uniform was disarranged as if he had just emerged from a -scrimmage. - -“There’s Mr. Philip Lawrence just gone down the service stairs.” - -We stared at him--not, at first, gathering what he meant. Our thoughts -had been occupied with other themes, as, for instance, our love for -one another. He, perceiving that we did not understand, went on, like -a man in a rage-- - -“Yes, he just went down the service stairs, did Mr. Philip Lawrence, -and a nice sort of a gentleman he is! I was standing in the doorway, -finishing my pipe, when I saw him coming. ‘Mr. Lawrence,’ I said, -‘this is a very sad thing about your brother. I’ve only just come, so -I’ve only just heard of it;’ which I had, and it had took me quite -aback. He never said a word; he gave me no warning, but, as soon as I -opened my mouth, he came at me like a mad bull, hit me right on the -nose, and sent me crashing down on to the back of my head in the road. -It’s a wonder he didn’t knock me senseless, I was so unprepared, and -he hit me so hard. As soon as I could pick myself together I saw him -rushing down the street, and tear round the corner as if he was -running for his dinner. And well he might run, for a nice sort of -gentleman he seems to be.” - -Hume and I looked at Turner, then at each other. - -“Are you sure that it was Mr. Philip Lawrence?” - -Turner gazed at me resentfully. - -“Am I sure? Do you think I’d say a thing like that of a gentleman if I -wasn’t sure that it was him? Not likely!” - -Hume interposed. - -“Do you wish us to understand that Mr. Philip Lawrence attacked you in -the manner you describe without having, first of all, received -provocation from you?” - -“I don’t know what you call provocation. All I said to him I’ve said -to you. I don’t know what provocation there was in saying that it was -a sad thing about his brother.” - -“You did not say, or do, anything else?” - -“I didn’t do anything at all--he did all the doing; and what I’ve said -I’ve told you.” - -“Turner, I know Mr. Philip Lawrence intimately. He is not a man to -commit an unprovoked assault. Either you have mistaken some one else -for him, or, consciously or unconsciously, you have kept back from us -something which appeared to him to be a sufficient justification for -what he did.” - -In his surprise Turner removed his handkerchief from his nose. The -blood trickled on to his waistcoat. - -“Well! That beats anything! I suppose my word’s worth nothing. If you -ask those who know me perhaps better than you do Mr. Philip Lawrence -they’ll tell you I’m no liar. I say that he hit me like a coward, for -nothing at all, and then took to his heels; and it was well for him he -did, for if I do get within reach of him I’ll perhaps give him as good -as he sent, though it’ll be after I’ve given him warning first. I’ll -let you know, Dr. Hume, that though I am a porter I’m not going to let -a gentleman knock me about as it suits him, even though he is a friend -of yours; and I don’t think any the better of you for taking his -part.” - -Going up to Turner, I clapped him on the shoulder. - -“That’s right! That’s how I like to hear a man speak out. Don’t think -that I doubt you in one little jot or tittle. Mr. Philip Lawrence hit -you like a coward because he was a coward. He was afraid of you; and -had good reason for his fear, as Dr. Hume knows very well.” - -“You--you----” - -Hume stopped; looking as if he were allowing “he dare not” to wait -upon “he would.” - -“Well, Hume, go on. Your friend did not give Turner an opportunity to -punish him for his bad behaviour. If you behave badly, I assure you -that I shall avail myself of any chance which may offer to punish you. -Pray finish the remark you were about to make.” - -Hume said nothing. He did not even glance in my direction. But he -looked at Turner, and walked out of the room. - -“He looks like killing some one himself,” said Turner, when he was -gone. - -“I shouldn’t be surprised.” - -I wonder how much he would have given, at that moment, to have made -sure of killing me--for choice, upon the gallows. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - MY PERSUASIVE MANNER - -I went at once to the house in Arlington Street. The door was opened -by Mr. Morley. - -“Have you heard anything of Mr. Philip? Is he at home?” - -Mr. Morley had opened the door about six inches, peeping through the -crevice as if he expected to see some dreadful object on the doorstep. -The sight of me seemed to reassure him. He addressed me in a -sepulchral whisper. - -“Would you mind stepping inside for a moment, sir?” - -I went into a front room on the ground floor. Mr. Morley came in after -me, and, behind him, Mrs. Morley. I was conscious that the room was -filled with old oak furniture. It is, perhaps, because I am not a man -of taste that I would not have an apartment in which I proposed to -live filled with that funereal wood. Old black oak furniture reminds -me of an African swamp. It is dark and sombre--heavy, stiff, ungainly. - -Without, the shadows had deepened; in the house it was darker still. -The room was still unlighted. The figures of the old man and woman, -revealed in the half light, harmonised with the ancient blackness of -the furniture. As they stood side by side, as close together as they -could get, with, on them both, an air of timidity which the darkness -could not hide, I felt that there was a blight upon them, and on the -room, and on the house; that it was a place of doom. - -“I take it that Mr. Philip has not returned.” - -They looked at one another; as if each was unwilling to incur the -responsibility of a reply. At last the husband took it on himself. - -“No, sir; he’s not returned, but----” - -“Well, but what?” - -For the old gentleman had paused. He spoke to his wife, in a whisper -which was perfectly audible-- - -“Shall I tell him, Emma?” - -“It’s not for me to speak. That, Joe, is for you to say.” - -“This is Mr. Ferguson; he’s Mr. Philip’s friend.” - -“If he’s Mr. Philip’s friend----” - -“Come,” I said, “I see you’ve heard from him.” - -“Yes, sir, we’ve heard from him. That--that’s the trouble.” - -“What is it you’ve heard?” - -Again the reference to his wife. - -“Shall I--shall I tell him, Emma?” - -“I’ve already told you, Joe, that that’s for you to say. It’s not for -me to speak.” - -Plainly Joe hesitated, then arrived at a sudden decision. - -“Well, sir, this is what we’ve heard.” - -He took a sheet of paper out of his pocket, which he gave to me. - -“I can’t see what’s on this, man, without a light! Mine are not cat’s -eyes; it’s dark as pitch in here.” - -“Before I light up, sir, I’ll lower the blind. There’s no need for -folks to see what’s going on in here.” - -He not only lowered the blind, he drew the curtains, too, leaving a -darkness which might have been felt; then started groping for a match -upon the mantelshelf. When he had found one he lit the gas--a single -burner. By its radiance I examined the paper he had given me. In -shape, size, appearance, it was own brother to the sheet which had -come to me. On it was a typewritten letter; which, however, in this -case, was not anonymous. - - -“To Joseph Morley, -“Dear Morley, - -“I’m in a bad scrape. I can’t come home. And I’ve no clothes, and no -money. I send you my keys. Look, you know where, and send me all the -money you can find; and my cheque-book, and my dressing-case, and two -or three trunks full of clothes. As you know, I took nothing away with -me except what I stood up in. I don’t know when I shall be able to -send, but it will be as soon as I possibly can. Have everything ready, -for when I do send I shan’t want my messenger to be kept waiting. And -keep a sharp look-out; it may be in the middle of the night. - - “Philip Lawrence. - -“Tell any one who asks that I shall be home in about a week; and that -you’ve instructions to send all letters on. I don’t want people to -think that you’re not in communication with me, or that everything’s -not all right. And you’re not to listen to any tales which you may -hear; and you’re not to worry, or people will notice it. You -understand?” - - -The eyes of the two old people did not leave my face while I was -reading. So soon as I lowered the paper Mr. Morley faltered out his -question. - -“Well, sir, what--what do you think of it?” - -“That it’s a curious epistle. Who brought it?” - -“That’s more than I can say. There was a knock at the door, and I saw -that in the letterbox. I looked out into the street, but there was no -one in sight who seemed a likely person to have dropped it in.” - -“No messenger-boy?” - -“No, sir, no one of the kind.” - -“And the keys came with it?” - -“Yes, sir, in a small brown-paper parcel.” - -“Addressed to you?” - -“No, the parcel was addressed to no one. There was nothing on it at -all.” - -“You are sure they are Mr. Philip’s keys?” - -“Of course they are. Whose should they be? Why--why do you say that?” - -“Has Mr. Philip been in the habit of sending you typewritten letters?” - -“He has never done such a thing in his life before.” - -“In this even the signature is typed--as if he had made up his mind -that you should not have a scrap of handwriting which you could -recognise. I don’t see why he need to have had such a letter typed at -all. Is he himself a typist?” - -“Not that I know of; I never heard him speak of it.” - -“Then to have had such a letter typed by some one else was to add to -his risk. Why couldn’t he have trusted you with a letter written by -his own hand?” - -“I can’t say.” - -“Are you yourself sure that this letter is from Mr. Philip?” - -“Not a doubt of it. I wish there were. Because it shows that he’s in -hiding; and what should he be in hiding for, except one thing? -What--what are we to do? If--if he has his brother’s blood upon his -hands.” - -“Joe!” - -“Well, Emma, if he has, he has! And where’ll he find a place big -enough, and out-of-the-way enough, for him to hide in? All the world -will soon know what he’s done, and all the world will be in search of -him. He won’t dare to come here--he daren’t already; soon he won’t -dare to write to me; the police will be watching me like cats a mouse. -He’ll be an outcast, shunning the places which he knew and the friends -who loved him--and he the most sociable gentleman who ever lived, who -never could bear to be alone; with a host of friends, and not a single -enemy. And--and what are we to do--the wife and I, here, in his house -alone? To whom are we to look for help--for guidance--for orders? -We--we’re almost afraid to stop in the place as it is; it--it’s as if -it were haunted. We seem to see him wherever we turn; we hear his -footstep on the stairs--his voice--his laughter.” - -“Joe!” - -“Well, Emma, so we do. Our nerves won’t stand it. We--we’re getting -all broken up; we’re not so young as we were, and used to regular -ways, and--and this sort of thing’s beyond us. Every knock at the door -starts us trembling. Who--who’s that?” - -As Mr. Morley was speaking, there came an assault on the front-door -knocker which seemed to shake the house. I do not think I ever heard -quite such a clatter made by a similar instrument before. That the -nerves of the old folks were in a curious condition was immediately -made plain; the attack might have been made on them, instead of on the -knocker. They drew closer together, clinging to each other for -support; consternation was written large all over them. Their -behaviour was not that of persons on whom I should have cared to lay -the burden of a great responsibility; especially one in which coolness -and presence of mind were necessary factors. - -The visitor was in a hurry. There had hardly been time to reach the -front door when the knocking began again--crash, smash, crash, crash, -crash, crash! I really thought the door would have been broken down. -The faces of the proper guardians of the house grew whiter, their -limbs more tremulous. - -“Hadn’t you better go and see who’s there? Or shall I?” - -They let me go. On the doorstep I found an individual who had his own -notions of propriety. With scant ceremony he endeavoured, without a -word of explanation, to force his way into the house. I am not a man -with whom every one finds it easy to play that kind of game. When I am -pushed, I push. Placing my hand against his chest, he went backwards -across the pavement at a run. - -“Manners, sir! Manners!” I observed. - -He seemed surprised--as a man is apt to do, who, proposing to play the -bully, finds himself bullied instead. His hat had fallen off; he -himself had almost fallen too. - -“Who the devil are you, sir?” - -“Saving a reference to any acquaintance of yours, that is the question -which I should like to put to you, sir.” - -Picking up his hat, he came towards me, with a blusterous air. - -“I want to see Philip Lawrence--at once.” - -“Do you indeed! That’s unfortunate. You have come to the wrong place -for your want to be supplied. Mr. Philip Lawrence doesn’t happen to be -in.” - -“Tell that tale to some one else; don’t try it on me; I’ve heard it -before. I’ll wait till he is in.” - -“By all means; let me show you the way inside.” - -Taking him by the collar of his coat, I conducted him through the -doorway, across the hall, and into the front room--where Mr. and Mrs. -Morley were still clinging to each other, as if under the impression -that the end of the world at last had come. The visitor was a big, -black-haired man, inclined to puffiness, whose whiskers and moustache -seemed to have been blackleaded, they shone with such resplendence. He -was clad in gorgeous attire. - -“What do you mean by such disgraceful behaviour?” I inquired. - -“On my word, that’s good!” He was settling in its place the collar of -his coat. “Seems to me that the boot’s upon the other foot.” He turned -to Mr. Morley. “Who is this man?” - -“This man,” I explained, to save Mr. Morley trouble, “is a person who -is competent to resent any impertinence which you may offer. So, if -you have come to play the bully, you will have every opportunity -afforded you to play your very best.” - -“Don’t talk to me like that, sir, you don’t know who I am. If I’d -liked I might have made Philip Lawrence bankrupt four and twenty hours -ago; only I thought I’d give him a chance. But I’m not going to stand -that sort of thing from you.” - -“Pray how could you have made Mr. Philip Lawrence bankrupt?” - -“I hold overdue bills of his for £5000. Some men would have made him -bankrupt on the nail, and run him up a tidy bill of costs. I’m too -soft-hearted; I gave him a chance. But I’ve had enough bother already; -I’m not going to have any more. If a satisfactory arrangement isn’t -made before I leave this house, there’ll be trouble.” - -“So you are the person who habitually trades in forged acceptances.” - -“Forged acceptances! What--what the devil do you mean, sir?” - -Unless I was mistaken, he increased in puffiness. - -“You know. You were aware that they were forged, and by whom. You had -a hand in arranging the whole matter; buying them for a song, with the -intention of securing as much out of Mr. Philip Lawrence as you -possibly could.” - -The gentleman began to bluster. Plainly he was not happy. - -“I--I don’t know who you are to talk to me like that, sir. Your -behaviour’s altogether most extraordinary. I’ll let you know that I’m -not going to have you speak to me like that: I’m not going to have -such language addressed to me. I came into possession of these bills -in the ordinary course of business.” - -“How much did you pay for them?” - -“I paid---- Never mind what I paid for them! What’s it got to do with -you?” So far he had been wearing his silk hat. Now he took it off to -wipe the brim. “As I say, I’m a soft-hearted man, and if it’s not -convenient to Mr. Lawrence to pay up all at once, why, I’m willing to -do my best to meet his conveniences; but I--I’m not going to be talked -to like that, certainly not!” - -“Hand them over.” - -“Hand what over?” - -“The bills.” - -“Against money.” - -“Hand over those bills.” - -“I haven’t got them on me; they’re in the safe at my office, under -lock and key. Do you think I carry about with me documents of that -value? You never know what sort of characters you may encounter.” - -This with a meaning glance in my direction. - -“Hand over those bills.” - -“Help! Murder! Thieves!” - -As he showed a disposition to make a noise, I took him by the throat. -Lifting him on the big oak table, and laying him flat upon his back, -I kept him quiet while I went through his pockets. As I expected, I -found in the inside breast-pocket of his coat a leather case. In this -were five promissory notes for £1000 each, purporting to have been -drawn by Philip Lawrence, and to have been endorsed by his brother -Edwin. I let him get up. - -“I hope I have put you to no inconvenience. Since you left the bills -in your office safe, under lock and key, no doubt you will find them, -still under lock and key, on your return.” - -“Give me back those bills!” - -“They will be quite safe with me.” - -I put them into my coat pocket. He turned to the Morleys. - -“I call you to witness that the man has robbed me, with violence! -Mind, with violence!” Then to me: “You give me back those bills, this -moment, or it will be a case of penal servitude for you; and I -shouldn’t be surprised if there were the cat thrown in.” - -“And what will it be for you? Judges and juries are not apt to look -with lenient eyes upon gentlemen who habitually traffic in forged -acceptances for the purposes of levying blackmail.” - -“Don’t talk to me like that; I tell you that I won’t have it!” - -“You won’t have it!” - -“Upon my word, I don’t know who you are, but I believe you’re -a----highwayman. Give me back those bills, or I go to the front door, -and I call a constable.” - -“Call one--do. I will give him the bills, with an explanation of what -they are, pointing out to him that you will presently have to stand -your trial on a charge of conspiracy; and that, also, you are -disagreeably associated with a case of murder.” - -“The man’s stark mad. I never heard any one talk like he does--never!” - -“Possibly you are not aware that Edwin Lawrence was murdered last -night.” - -“Edwin Lawrence murdered?” - -The man turned a greenish hue. - -“Beyond doubt his death was the direct result of the crime which you -incited him to commit. The whole story’s known. I heard myself, this -morning, a confession from the lips of the miserable tool who actually -concocted the fraudulent documents. You will find him quite willing to -turn Queen’s Evidence. The bills will be produced in Court, when you -will have an opportunity to tell your story.” - -He put his hand up to his collar, as if it had suddenly become tight. - -“It’s a lie that Edwin Lawrence was murdered last night. It’s a lie.” - -“By the way, sir, what is your name?” - -“What’s it to do with you?” - -“Chancing to notice in your letter-case some visiting-cards, I -ventured to abstract one. We will refer to that.” I produced it from -my waistcoat pocket. “From this it appears that you are Mr. Isaac -Bernstein, of 288, Great Poland Street. Very good, Mr. Bernstein. Your -bills are in safe keeping. You will hear of them again, never fear. -Their history will be threshed out to your complete satisfaction--when -you will be wanted again. Until then you can go.” - -“It’s a lie that he was murdered--it’s a lie.” - -“On that point you may be able to obtain information from Mr. and Mrs. -Morley, or from the first policeman you meet in the street.” - -“God help us all!” groaned Mr. Morley. - -Apparently there was something in the old gentleman’s ejaculation -which carried sufficient corroboration to Mr. Bernstein’s alert -intelligence. He quitted the room to presently return. - -“Who--who killed him?” - -“In due course that will be made plain; also your association with the -motive which was in the murderer’s mind, causing him to compass the -death of the man whom you had incited to the perpetration of a hideous -and unnatural crime.” - -Mr. Bernstein went out of the house without another word. When I heard -the door bang, I turned to the old people. - -“You see? That is the way in which to treat impertinent persons who -presume upon your master’s absence to traduce his name and to take -liberties with the establishment which he has left in your charge.” - -The old gentleman shook his head. - -“It’s easy talking, but we haven’t all got your persuasive manner, -sir.” - -It was an absurd thing for him to say, for no one knows better than -myself that my manner is rude and awkward, and that I am unskilled in -all those arts which go to make the master of persuasion. As I -followed Mr. Bernstein out of the house, almost immediately, I had an -illustration of how true that is. And again, in a more serious matter, -a little later on. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - MY UNPERSUASIVE MANNER - -As I left the house a man came across the pavement as if with the -intention of knocking at Philip Lawrence’s door. At sight of me coming -down the steps he stopped short. It was young Moore. His appearance -set the blood tingling in my veins; his hat was cocked at an acute -angle on one side of his head; a cigar was stuck in the corner of his -mouth. There was something in his bearing, and about the way in which -he spoke, which showed that he had been drinking. - -“What are you doing in that house? You answer me that! Seems to me -that you’ve got a finger in every pie.” - -He addressed me in tones which were probably audible in Piccadilly. - -“Might I ask you, Mr. Moore, to pitch your voice a little lower?” - -“You may ask, but as for paying attention to anything you ask--not me. -I’m not afraid of any one hearing what I’ve got to say. This is the -public street, this is, and if you so much as lay a hand on me---- -Here, drop that! Help! Police!” - -As I moved towards him, he sprang out of my reach, shouting in a -fashion which could not fail to attract attention. Indeed a man, -apparently a respectable artisan, who had passed us a few seconds -before, turned to look at us. - -“What’s the matter there?” - -Mr. Moore was quite at his ease. - -“Nothing--at least, not yet there isn’t. But there will be soon, if he -so much as lays a finger on me.” - -The man went on. - -“You seem to be a pretty sort of idiot,” I observed. - -He flicked the ash off his cigar with a jeering laugh. - -“We can’t all be as wise as you, nor as big. Size goes for something, -you great overgrown monster. Barnum’s museum is where you ought to be, -not walking about the streets.” - -I hardly knew what to make of him. If I had had him in a room I might -have taught him manners; out in the street he had me at an advantage. -He was plainly disposed to court, rather than avoid, a public scandal, -while I was anything but inclined to find myself an object of interest -to a curious crowd. While I hesitated he went on: - -“A nice sort you seem to be, all round. A pretty lot of lies you -stuffed me with this morning--Adair and you together. On my honour! -Making out that Eddie Lawrence had had his throat cut, and the Lord -knows what! Setting me thinking that my sister’d cut it for him--my -goodness! What is your little game? I wish she had!” He burst into -boisterous laughter. “Bessie cut Eddie Lawrence’s throat!--that would -be an elegant joke! I only wish she’d done it! D’ye hear? I say I only -wish she’d done it! You can put that into your pipe and smoke it.” - -He swaggered off up the street. I made no attempt to stop -him--crediting him with the wild utterances of a drink-fuddled brain. -I did wonder what errand had brought him to Philip Lawrence’s; for -that he had been going there when I interrupted him I felt sure. But -that, in his present condition, I should get no information on that -point, or any other, from him was evident. - -I returned home. As soon as I entered the sitting-room, I became -conscious that some one was in the bedroom beyond. - -“If that is Hume again----” - -It would have gone hard with him, if it had been; but it was not. It -was Inspector Symonds and a colleague. It came upon me, with a rush of -sickening recollection, that I had actually gone out without putting -the room to rights, but with all my possessions lying about just as -Hume and I had left them. On the bed was still that irrepressible -cloak. Why had I not burnt the thing? Or torn it into rags? Or got rid -of it somehow? Anything would have been better than allowing it to -continue in existence. The two men were examining it minutely from top -to bottom. - -“What--what are you doing here?” - -There was a choking something in my throat. They had taken me by -surprise; and I was conscious that this was not a case in which -physical force could be advantageously employed. - -“Our duty, Mr. Ferguson. We are acting within the limits of our -authority. I have a search-warrant in my pocket. Shall I read it to -you, sir?” - -“What are you searching for in my room?” - -“For something that will throw light upon the murder of your friend, -Mr. Edwin Lawrence. As that is an object for which you will, no doubt, -be willing to do anything which lies in your power, you will be glad -to hear that we have come upon what looks like a very important piece -of evidence. Whose cloak is this, Mr. Ferguson?” - -“Cloak? What cloak? Oh, that! That’s my cousin’s.” - -“Indeed. What is your cousin’s name?” - -“Mary--Miss Mary Ferguson. She was here a few days ago, and, as her -nose bled very badly, she left her cloak behind.” - -My wits were wool-gathering. It was the first invention I could think -of. - -“And were these marks upon the cloak made by your cousin’s nose -bleeding?” - -“Exactly.” - -“She must have almost bled to death. Did a blood-vessel break?” - -“No, I don’t think so.” - -“You don’t think so?” - -“That is, I’m sure. She has suffered very badly from bleeding at the -nose her whole life long; some people do--as you are perhaps aware.” - -“How long is it since she was your visitor?” - -“Oh, some days. Quite a week--if not more.” - -“Is that so? It’s odd that the blood should have continued in a liquid -state so long. Some of it is not dry yet.” - -“Well, perhaps it wasn’t so long as that.” - -“So I should imagine.” - -“If you’ll give it to me I’ll pack it up and send it to her at once. I -meant to have done so before.” - -“Let me have her address, and I will send it to her. Or, rather, I -will take it to her at once. That will save both time and trouble.” - -“You are very good, Symonds, but I won’t put you to so much -inconvenience. I prefer to take it to her myself.” - -“You are sure that your cousin’s name isn’t Moore--Miss Bessie Moore?” - -“What do you mean? Are you presuming again?” - -“Are you prepared to assert, Mr. Ferguson, that this cloak was not -worn by Miss Bessie Moore when, last night, she came out of Mr. Edwin -Lawrence’s room?” - -“I’ll swear it.” - -“You will have an opportunity of doing so in the witness-box. Though I -warn you to consider what are the pains and penalties of committing -perjury, because I shall bring trustworthy witnesses who will prove -not only that she wore this cloak, but that the fact of her wearing it -was well within your knowledge.” - -He began to roll it up. - -“You are not going to take it away, Symonds--my cousin’s property.” - -“Your cousin’s property! Listen to me, Mr. Ferguson. I’m told that -you’ve lived a good deal abroad. I don’t know what may be the manners -and customs in those parts, but I can assure you that, at home, you -cannot do a more serious disservice to a person suspected of crime -than to resist, on his or her behalf, due process of law. And I may -add that, in the eyes of judge and jury, a prisoner is not assisted by -the discovery that a witness has been endeavouring to bolster up his -or her cause by swearing to a series of unmistakable falsehoods. I -know that Miss Bessie Moore was wearing a cloak when she went to see -Mr. Edwin Lawrence. Mrs. Peddar says that she had on nothing of the -kind when you hid her in her apartment. What has become of it? In the -interval, between her leaving Lawrence and going up to Mrs. Peddar, -she was in your room. I search your room. In it I discover the cloak -which Miss Moore has been described as wearing. You will do that lady -a very serious injury by endeavouring to persuade me, or anybody else, -that this garment is the property of a suppositious cousin, who never -existed except in your imagination.” - -As he continued to speak in his measured, emotionless tones, I felt as -if something was being drawn tighter about my throat; something -against which it was vain to struggle. I endeavoured to collect my -thoughts. But, somehow, all at once, I had grown stupid; more stupid, -even, than I was wont to be. I could not get my ideas into proper -order. They eluded me. My brain was in confusion. I could not see what -was the wisest thing to do. I came to a desperate resolve, which I put -into execution with sufficient clumsiness. - -“You’re on the wrong tack, Mr. Symonds.” - -“I’ve not said what tack I am on.” - -“You police are famous for your blunders. I’ll save you from making -another.” - -“That’s kind.” - -“I killed Edwin Lawrence.” - -They looked at me, then at each other, smiling. The inspector’s -colleague gave a short, dry laugh. - -“It’s a little too thin,” he said. - -“I repeat that I killed Edwin Lawrence.” - -The inspector gazed at me with twinkling eyes. - -“What do you propose to gain by that?” - -“Gain? Nothing; except, I suppose, the gallows. But I don’t care. Life -has no longer any charms for me, with this--this upon my soul. His -blood is on my hands. I admit it.” - -“With a view, I presume, to getting his blood off the hands of -somebody else, eh?” - -“What on earth do you mean? You seem to be some sort of -monomaniac--possessed with but one idea. I tell you that I am the -man’s murderer. You can take your prisoner. And there’s an end of it.” - -“Hardly. What we want to know just now is, how you account for these -stains upon Miss Moore’s cloak.” - -“I know nothing at all about it.” - -“They are not the results of your cousin’s bleeding at the nose?” - -“----you, Symonds!” - -“Thank you, Mr. Ferguson. That’s scarcely a matter which is likely to -come within your province. You must take us for a pair of really -remarkable simpletons, Gray and I, to wish us to believe that you know -so much about the one thing and nothing at all about the other. It is -odd.” - -“As you please. I have admitted my guilt If you decline to arrest me, -I certainly shouldn’t be the one to grumble.” - -“You shouldn’t be, but it seems that you are. Tell us the story of -these stains. It may be that the explanation will make your guilt -clear. Then we’ll arrest you with the greatest pleasure.” - -I thought about what Hume had said about the advisability of -concocting a plausible story which could hold water. I wished heartily -that I had availed myself of his assistance to frame one there and -then. I am one of the worst liars living. More than once, when the -situation could have been saved by a lie, I have made a mess of -things. I am without the knack which some men have; no one would -mistake a lie of mine for truth. I felt that the two officers were -watching me, with keenly observant eyes, incredulity written large all -over them. I was conscious that I must say something. If Hume had only -been there to prompt me! Bracing myself together, I made a plunge. - -“I will tell you everything. I’ll keep back nothing. What would be the -use? You’d be sure to find out.” - -“Quite so.” - -“She saw me kill him. She tried to save him. She rushed forward, as he -fell back into her arms, so that his life’s blood dyed her cloak.” - -“That was the way of it--as he fell back. From the position in which -he was found, the idea was that he fell forward.” - -“Well, it might have been forward. I--I was hardly in a state of mind -to pay close attention to every detail.” - -“With what did you kill him?” - -“With--with a knife which I brought home with me from a tribe of -negroes on the West Coast of Africa.” - -“Might I see the weapon?” - -I had an armoury of such things, but was conscious that there was -nothing among them which could have been responsible for the injuries -which had been inflicted on Edwin Lawrence. - -“I haven’t it. I took it out with me just now, and--threw it into the -river.” - -“That’s unfortunate. Because, apart from anything else, it must have -been a truly extraordinary weapon--worth looking at, since the doctors -were under the impression that at least fifty knives were used, of -varying sizes.” - -“My knife had several blades.” - -“Is that so? All of the same length?” - -“All lengths.” - -“But fitted into one handle?” - -“Yes; but it was a peculiar handle.” - -“So I should imagine. I’m afraid, Mr. Ferguson, that you’ll have to -make a drawing of this knife of yours, in order to make the judge and -jury and the doctors understand what kind of article it was. When you -entered the room, was Miss Moore already there?” - -“Yes; she was there on an errand of mercy.” - -“Indeed. Did she stop the proceedings in order to tell you so?” - -“I know.” - -“I have already remarked that you seem to know a good deal about some -things and nothing at all about others. How long was it after your -entrance that the murder began?” - -“I rushed at him instantly, without a word of warning.” - -“Describe how the crime was committed--in detail.” - -“He was standing with his back to me. I stabbed him before he had a -chance to turn; when he did turn, I stabbed him in the chest.” - -“And then in the face?” - -“Yes; and then in the face.” - -“What was Miss Moore doing all this time?” - -“She was taken by surprise. So soon as she understood what was -happening she rushed to the rescue.” - -“I suppose, by then, you had stabbed him thirty or forty times. The -corpse is disfigured by hundreds of wounds.” - -“I can’t say.” - -“And, after the rescue, did you continue stabbing him?” - -“I did.” - -“And what did Miss Moore do--nothing?” - -“She tried to prevent me--she did all that she could.” - -“Struggled with you, for instance?” - -“Yes.” - -“Do you say that Miss Moore struggled with you?” - -“Look here, Symonds, confound you, and confound your questions! Do you -know that I’m beginning to feel like killing you?” - -“Steady! Keep a little farther off. You’re not the sort of man with -whom I should care to struggle; especially as now, for the first time, -I believe you. I have no doubt that, at the present moment, you feel -much more like killing me than you ever felt like killing Edwin -Lawrence. No, Mr. Ferguson, I’ve an inkling of what you’re driving at, -and I’m not sure that, policeman though I am, in a sort of a way I -don’t admire you. But you’re no hand at a game like this. You’re no -fictionist, it’s not your line; your plots don’t dovetail. We still -have to find out how these stains came upon the lady’s cloak.” - -“Aren’t you--aren’t you going to arrest me?” - -“I am not, at present. Perhaps, when you are in the witness-box, you -may succeed in inducing the judge to order your arrest; but, in that -case, I’m afraid that it will be for perjury. Come along, Gray. If I -were you, Mr. Ferguson, I’d let things take their course; they will, -however you may try to stop them. If the lady is innocent, it will be -made plain; if she is not, that also will be made plain; and, you may -take my word for it, that it’s just as well for every one concerned -that it should be.” - -The Inspector went out of the room with the cloak rolled up under his -arm--I making no sort of effort to prevent him. The truth is that I -was conscious that I had succeeded in making an ass of myself, and in -nothing else, that the backbone had all gone out of me, and I felt as -limp as a rag. - -And yet that imbecile old Morley had prated of my persuasive manner! - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - I AM CALLED - -Had I had my way, that night, Miss Moore would have sought a place -of refuge, where she could have lain hidden till the cloud passed over -and her integrity was made clear. Anything, to my mind, was better -than that she should run even a momentary risk of a policeman’s -contaminating hands. But Hume would have none of it. - -Some one knocked at the door, while I was sitting on the side of the -bed, wondering, since I had failed to do murder, if suicide was not -the next best thing. It was Hume. He gave me one of his swift, keen -glances as he came in. - -“Anything fresh?” - -“Man, I’ve made an idiot of myself--an idiot.” - -“Ah! But what I said was. Is there anything fresh?” - -I told him the story of my interview with Symonds. He kept on smiling -all the time, as if it had been a funny tale. When I had finished he -rubbed his chin. - -“You’ve burned your boats, that’s clear. You’ll never hang for the -lady. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put that -murder story of yours together again. You’ve managed very well, my -dear Ferguson.” - -I cared nothing for his sneers. Other thoughts were racking me. - -“I shouldn’t be surprised if he’s gone off to arrest her right away, -and all because of my--my cursed blundering.” - -“I think not. The lady’s safe for to-night. The police don’t always -move so fast as you appear to think. They’ll know where to find her -when they want her.” - -“That’s it! Hume, couldn’t--couldn’t she be induced to go where they -wouldn’t know where to find her?” - -“I hope she’s not so foolish. To run away would be about equivalent to -pleading guilty. She’d have all England hot-foot after her. Better -stay and face the music. The inquest’s for to-morrow. As one of the -most important witnesses, you will be able to make the whole thing -clear, and establish her innocence in the eyes of all men.” - -The inquest! I had never thought of it. And for to-morrow? The idea -came with a shock of surprise. That was what Symonds had meant by his -ironical allusions to my conduct in the witness-box. In my present -state of mind, with my muddled head, and stumbling tongue, an expert -heckler might goad me into saying anything--into hanging her with the -words out of my own mouth. - -I had a wild notion of flying myself, so that there might be no risk -of doing her an injury by my inability to hold my own in a -tongue-match with the lawyers. But I remembered what she had said -about feeling safe when I was near; and I myself had a sort of -suspicion that, if the worst came to the worst, I still might do her -yeoman’s service. So, as I could not keep still at home and think, -instead of going farther from her I went closer to her. After I had -swallowed a hurried dinner I took a cab Bromptonwards, and hung about -Hailsham Road for hour after hour. - -I passed and repassed the house. A light was burning in the window of -an upper room. I wondered if the room was hers. I would have given a -good deal for the courage to inquire, but my nervous system was -disorganised. I was as afraid of being seen as if I had been there for -an improper purpose. - -When any one came into the street from either direction I quickened my -pace and almost bolted. Once, when some one raised a corner of a -blind, with the apparent intention of peeping out into the street, I -fairly took to my heels and ran. - -On one point I derived some negative satisfaction--so far as I could -judge, the house was not being watched by the police. The lady was -free to come or go. I was the only person who was taking an obvious -interest in her proceedings. - -Perhaps that was in some degree owing to the weather, which was bad, -even for London. There was a delightful fog, which, for some -inscrutable reason, was seemingly not at all affected by a cutting -east wind; and a filthy rain. I had on an overcoat; but was conscious -that I was not getting drier as the night wore on. What I was waiting -for I could not have told myself, until, towards midnight, a hansom -dashed into the street, in which, as it passed, I saw the face of Miss -Adair. I was after it like a flash, catching it just as it reached the -door of No. 22. - -“Miss Adair!” I cried, as the lady was preparing to descend into the -mud and rain. - -“Good gracious, Mr. Ferguson, is that you? Whatever are you doing here -at this time of night?” - -“I--I thought I’d call and inquire how--how Miss Moore was getting -on.” - -“Well, and have you called?” - -“No, I--I thought I’d wait till you came home from the theatre -and--and ask you.” - -From her post of vantage in the cab Miss Adair looked me up and down, -perceiving that I was neither so well groomed nor so dry as I might -have been. - -“And, pray, how long have you been waiting for me to come home from -the theatre?” - -“Oh, some--some few minutes.” - -“A good few minutes, I should imagine. And where have you been -waiting?” - -“Oh, I--I’ve been hanging about.” - -“In the mud, I should say, from the look of you. You are a -disreputable object. So I cannot but hope that you’ve enjoyed your -vigil. I may tell you, for your satisfaction, that when I left home -Miss Moore was ill.” - -“Ill! Not--not really ill?” - -“Really ill. This time there’s not a doubt about it. She’s in bed. Dr. -Hume says that it’s the result of the breakdown from the overstrain -which might have been naturally expected.” - -“Hume! Has Hume been here?” - -“Certainly. And another medical man.” - -“But--what did Hume want?” - -“My good sir! Dr. Hume’s a doctor; and a very clever one.” - -“Yes; but only in special cases. This sort of thing is not his line.” - -“I think you are mistaken. I should say that everything was in his -line. Besides, he is a very old and a very intimate friend of Miss -Moore’s.” - -“Oh--I--I wasn’t aware that he was quite--quite so intimate as that.” - -I felt that the woman was regarding me out of the corner of her eye. -She knew that she was torturing me. - -“Oh dear, yes. Not that I fancy that Bessie’s very fond of Dr. Hume. -Indeed, it’s rather the other way. It’s my belief that she can’t bear -the sight of the man. Though I don’t know why. He’s most charming--and -so clever. Don’t you like clever people?” No, I did not, I never did, -and never shall. “Should I ascertain how Bessie’s progressed since I -went out, or don’t you care to stay?” - -“If--if you would let me know how she is!” - -Letting herself in with a latchkey, she made inquiries of the maid who -appeared in the hall. - -“How is Miss Moore?” - -“I don’t think she’s quite so well, miss. I sent for Dr. Nockolds, and -I did think of sending for Dr. Hume.” - -“Hume!” I cut in. “I shouldn’t send for Hume. The other man’s as good, -if not better.” - -Miss Adair turned to me. - -“But, my dear Mr. Ferguson, Dr. Hume is a most skilful practitioner.” - -“Yes; but not--not in these sort of cases. I’m sure the other man’s -better. And, if you like, I’ll send in a man; I--I know a most -wonderful man.” - -“And what did Dr. Nockolds say?” - -“He seemed to think she was going on all right, only a little -feverish. But he sent in a nurse, who’s going to sit up with her -to-night.” - -“She’ll be all right with the nurse, not a doubt of it. Good night, -Mr. Ferguson. So good of you to call.” - -That woman showed me to the door without giving me a chance to slip a -word in edgeways. I went home in the cab which had brought her from -the theatre. Hume indeed! Why had I not been trained to be a doctor? -If there was a more miserable man in London that night than I was, I -should have liked to have seen him. - -And on the morrow it was worse! They held the inquest, after the -agreeable English custom, in a public-house--the Bolt and Tun--the -sort of place no decent person would have entered in the ordinary way. -There, in a long room, with a sanded floor, the coroner sat with his -jury. The witnesses hung about as if they did not know what to do with -themselves. The police were very much in evidence. And a heterogeneous -collection of doubtful-looking men, women, and children represented -the general public. - -The coroner was a man named Evanson--a Dr. Reginald Evanson. A small, -thin, sharp-faced man with sandy hair, who looked as if he drank. I am -very much mistaken if it was not only because he failed as a medical -practitioner that he got himself elected coroner. I disliked the -fellow directly I caught a glimpse of him; and I do not think that he -took an inordinate fancy to me. As for his jury, he and they were a -capital match; there was not one man among them to whom, on the -strength of his appearance, I would have lent a five-pound note. - -They commenced proceedings by viewing the body. Edwin Lawrence still -lay on his own bed, so that they had a walk of a hundred yards or -more. It seemed as if they enjoyed the little excursion, for two or -three of them were sniggering and joking together when they returned; -I should not have been surprised to learn that they had refreshed -themselves with a glass of something at the bar, on the way upstairs. -Then evidence was called. George Atkins. - -It was Atkins and I who had discovered the tragedy. They did not keep -him long. He said his say in a crisp, business-like manner, which I -only hoped that I might be able to imitate when my turn came. He told -how he had taken his morning cup of coffee to Lawrence’s bedroom door; -how he had failed to receive an answer; how he had brought my coffee -to me, telling me of his inability to make the man hear; how I had -gone along the balcony, looked through the window, called to him; how -we had entered the room together, and what we had seen lying on the -floor. - -When Atkins had told them so much they let him go. - -“Call John Ferguson.” - -It was unnecessary. John Ferguson was waiting, close at hand, -completely at their service--or, at least, as much at their service as -he was ever likely to be. - -I stepped up to the table. - -“Large size in blokes, ain’t he?” whispered one idiot to another, as I -passed through the little crowd. - -The other idiot chuckled. I could have hammered their heads together, -so sensitive was I at that moment to everything and anything, and so -calmly judicial was my frame of mind, in excellent fettle to cut a -proper figure on an occasion when everything--happiness, honour, life -itself--might hang upon a word! - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - I LEAVE THE COURT - -As for the coroner, he was prejudiced against me directly I took up -my stand at the table; he being one of those diminutive opuscula who -instinctively object to a man who is of a reasonable size. My height -has been against me more than once. It placed me at a disadvantage -then. There was not a creature present in the room who did not look -upon me as a sort of raree-show, and who was not prepared to enjoy the -spectacle of my being put to confusion. Nor had they long to wait for -the sort of pleasure they desired; I made a hash of things almost from -the start. - -A little fellow, who had informed us that he had been instructed by -the Treasury, took me in hand. He might have been a cousin of the -coroner’s; he, too, had sandy hair and the same peevish countenance. -His questions at first were not particularly objectionable, but ere -long they became of a kind which, if I had had my way, I would have -been careful not to answer in any fashion save one. He had a trick of -holding his hands in front of him, fidgeting a piece of paper between -his fingers. His voice was, like himself, small and insignificant; -but, when he chose, it had a singularly penetrating quality, which, -for some reason, reminded me of the sound of sawing wood. He kept his -eyes fixed almost continually on my face, glancing hungrily from -feature to feature, as if desirous not to miss the movement of a -muscle. Altogether he was like some pertinacious terrier who worried, -not only in the way of business, but also for sport. I should like to -have taken him by the scruff of the neck and shaken him. - -He wanted to know if Edwin Lawrence had been a friend of mine; how -long I had known him, what I knew about him, when I had seen him last. -I told him about the game of cards, but, somewhat to my surprise, he -made no allusion to my loss, nor the terms on which we parted. - -And here began my blundering. I wished the Court to understand that, -at parting, we were on the worst possible terms, and that I was in -just the proper mood for committing murder. But Jordan--that was the -little terrier fellow--would have none of it. He told me to confine -myself to answering his questions; and that I would have an -opportunity of making any statement, on my own account, which the -Court might think fit to allow, when he had done with me. I wished to -make my statement then; but with him against me, and the coroner, and -an ass of a foreman, who said that the jury were unanimously of -opinion that I was wasting time, I never had a chance. - -He had his way. Then began the real tug-of-war with his very next -question. He asked me if, after I had retired to rest, I had been -disturbed in the night. Then I saw a chance to score, after all. I -said I had, by a dream; but when I was about to tell them of that -mysterious vision, he stopped me. - -“Never mind about the dream. Dreams are not evidence.” - -Some of the audience tittered. I have not the faintest notion what at. -I should have liked to supply them with an adequate reason. - -“But my dream is evidence--very much evidence. If you will let me tell -it you, it will throw more light----” - -“Thank you. But were you disturbed by nothing beside a dream?--for -instance, by some one coming through your bedroom window?” - -“I was not.” - -“Mr. Ferguson, take care. Do you say that no one came through your -window?” - -“I say that I was not disturbed by any one.” - -“I see. You are particular about the form in which the question is -put. I will alter it. I ask you--did any one come through your bedroom -window after you had retired to rest?” - -“I decline to answer. It’s no business of yours. I suppose I can have -what visitors I choose.” - -“Do you suggest that the visit was intended for you--in your bedroom, -alone, at that hour of the night? Consider what your suggestion -implies.” - -“I never said that any one came.” - -“You as good as said so. But we will have it from you in another form. -Who was it, Mr. Ferguson, who came through your bedroom window?” - -Beads of perspiration were already standing on my forehead. - -“I have told you,” I shouted, “that I decline to answer!” - -Jordan turned to the coroner. - -“Perhaps you will allow me to explain, Mr. Coroner, that the police -are in possession of a body of evidence which tends to implicate a -particular person. This fact the witness is aware of and resents. He -has not only thrown obstacles in the way of the police, but has gone -so far as to assert his own guilt. That this assertion rests on no -basis of truth there can be no sort of doubt. Its only purpose can be -to throw dust in the eyes of the police; and, especially, to render -his own evidence ineligible. His own evidence is of capital -importance. And I ask your assistance, Mr. Coroner, in my endeavour to -prevent a miscarriage of justice, owing to Mr. Ferguson’s refusal to -answer any questions which I may put to him.” - -“Certainly. Witness, you will answer any proper questions which are -put to you, at once, and without any beating about the bush.” - -“I rather fancy that that’s a point on which I shall please myself.” - -The coroner banged his hand upon the table. - -“Don’t speak to me like that, sir, or you’ll find yourself in the -wrong box. If you don’t answer the questions which are put to you, -I’ll commit you for contempt of Court.” - -“Commit.” - -I should have liked to commit an assault upon the coroner. But he -thought proper to ignore my challenge, and addressed himself to Mr. -Jordan. - -“Put your question again. I am amazed to find a person of the apparent -position of the witness behaving in so discreditable a manner.” - -“Now, Mr. Ferguson. I ask you again: Did any one come through your -bedroom window after you had retired to rest?” - -“And I say to you, Mr. Jordan, that you have my sympathy in the -position in which you find yourself. Don’t you think if I were to put -one or two questions to you, it might vary the monotony?” - -“You hear, Mr. Coroner, what the witness says?” - -“I do. And I regret to find that such conduct can be treated with -levity.” A titter had gone round the room. “If there is that sound -again, I will immediately have the court cleared. Witness, look at -me.” - -“If you desire it, with the greatest pleasure. Though there doesn’t -seem to be much to look at.” - -“How dare you speak to me like that?” - -“No offence, my dear Mr. Coroner. A plain statement of a plain fact.” - -“Have you been drinking, sir?” - -“That is said with an insolent intention. Is it impossible for an -official person to be courteous?” - -“Your behaviour is most extraordinary. You evidently cannot realise -the serious nature of the occasion which brings us here. Are you -aware, sir, that if you decline to answer the questions which are put -to you, I can commit you to prison for contempt of Court?” - -“I am not aware of any reason why impertinent questions should be -answered under one set of circumstances rather than another.” - -“Don’t argue with me. Will you answer the question which counsel has -put to you?” - -“My good Mr. Coroner----” - -“I commit you for contempt. Officer, arrest this man.” - -“If the gentleman in question is wise enough to take my seriously -offered advice, he will not attempt to do anything so foolish.” - -Hume, who was sitting opposite, rose and leaned towards me across the -table. - -“Are you stark mad? What useful purpose do you propose to serve by -going to gaol? Or what good do you suppose you will do her by fumbling -with the questions? You will have to speak out sooner or later. Speak -out now! Tell the truth! That is the only way in which you can do her -a service.” - -Jordan struck in; still twirling the scrap of paper into spirals with -his fingers: - -“Might I ask you, Mr. Coroner, to request your officer to refrain for -a moment from carrying out your instructions? Perhaps Mr. Ferguson may -be disposed to listen to this gentleman’s wise and friendly counsel. -Don’t you think, sir, that you had better?” - -I laughed. - -“I do. I am prepared to answer any questions which you may put to me.” - -“That is more promising. I assure you that I have no desire to do or -say anything to hurt your feelings. I believe I know what they are, -and I respect them. But I must do my duty and you must do yours; and I -do not think that you will hurt any one by doing it.” - -“Don’t lecture me, man.” - -“Now, tell me; did any one come through your bedroom window after you -had retired to rest?” - -“No one.” - -“That you swear.” - -“Miss Bessie Moore did not come through your window?” - -“Certainly not. How dare you drag in that lady’s name?” - -“Was she in your rooms at all that night?” - -“She was not.” - -“Did you go up, between one and two in the morning, to tell the -housekeeper that she had come through your window?” - -“I did not.” - -“Did the housekeeper come down and find her in your room?” - -“She did not.” - -“Did Miss Bessie Moore spend the night in the housekeeper’s -apartments?” - -“I can’t say.” - -“Can’t--or won’t?” - -“Can’t.” - -“Are you aware that you have sworn to speak the truth?” - -“I am.” - -“Are you acquainted with the pains and penalties of perjury?” - -“My good man, pray don’t, even by inference, attempt to measure -others’ ignorance by the standard of your own.” - -“As you will. So long as we know that we are not dealing with one who -is wholly illiterate. Have you seen this cloak before, Mr. Ferguson?” - -From a bag which Inspector Symonds produced from beneath the table he -took, as I had expected, the plum-coloured cloak. - -“I have.” - -“Where?” - -“In my room. And on my cousin’s back.” - -“On your cousin’s back? Not on Miss Moore’s?” - -“Certainly not.” - -“You have never seen Miss Moore wearing it?” - -“Never.” - -“To the best of your knowledge and belief is this not Miss Moore’s -cloak?” - -“Nothing of the kind.” - -“That you swear?” - -“You have already reminded me that I am on my oath.” - -“It is necessary to keep that fact always before you, Mr. Ferguson. -Then if Miss Moore says that this cloak is hers she will be stating -what is false?” - -“When Miss Moore makes such a claim it will be time to discuss it. -Don’t let us be suppositious.” - -“Very well. I will not put to you any more questions, Mr. Ferguson, at -present; though don’t suppose for a moment that I have done with you. -I have to inform you, Mr. Coroner, that this witness has been uttering -a series of perjuries, well knowing them to be perjuries, for the -obvious purpose of defeating the ends of Justice. And I have to ask -that, at the very least, a watch be kept upon his movements.” - -“He shall be detained.” - -“Detained!” - -I laughed. I buttoned my coat across my chest, and I walked out of the -room. The people made way to let me pass as if I had been the plague. -Possibly it was because they saw something in my appearance which they -did not altogether like. A constable stood at the entrance. I motioned -him, with my hand, to move on one side. He moved aside, I saw that -there was a key in the lock, on the outer side of the door. I had an -inspiration. It was a solidly constructed door, not one of your flimsy -constructions made of matchwood, but a good, honest piece of woodwork, -not to be easily forced from the inside. I drew it to, locked it, and, -slipping the key into my pocket, I walked down the stairs out into the -street. - -The Court, for all I knew, continued sitting. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - A JOURNEY TO NOWHERE - -It was between three and four o’clock in the afternoon. Already the -lamps were lighted. The fog still hung over the city. From the -appearance of things it might have been night. - -“To her!” I said to myself. I called a cab. “To Hailsham Road--the -Boltons!” - -I examined my possessions. Time pressed. Return to Imperial Mansions -was out of the question. Of what crime I had been guilty I did not -know; that there would be a disposition to make me smart for it I felt -persuaded. I have lived in places where, as much as possible, a man -carries his valuables upon his person, for safety. The habit has clung -to me a little. As a rule I carry more money than, I believe, the -average Englishman is apt to do. I had in my letter-case over £100 in -notes, in my pockets nearly £20 in sovereigns; a sufficiency for my -immediate requirements. It was enough to take two people out of reach -of the storm. - -As we entered Hailsham Road I saw that a man was standing at the -corner. Turning, as we passed, he closely scrutinised both the cab and -me. The maidservant answered my knock. Miss Moore was in--Miss Adair -out. Miss Moore was better, thank you. She would inquire if I could -see her. - -She showed me into the sitting-room. A bright fire was blazing. The -apartment was redolent of a particular aroma, perceived of my -imagination, perhaps, rather than my senses. It was an aroma I loved. -I had never seen a room I liked so much. While I was considering that -it might turn out unfortunately for the gentleman at the corner, -should he show too pertinacious an interest in my movements, she came. -With a little flutter, and a little laugh--the sound of which was -good--she held out both her hands. - -“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come. If you’d been much longer, I should have -come to you. Where have you been?” - -“For some part of last night I was out in the street, watching your -window.” - -“Out in the street! But--why didn’t you come in?” - -“It was too late to pay a call. Besides--I did make inquiries, and -they told me you were in bed, and ill.” - -“I was not very well. I believe I was light-headed. But I’m better -now; my own proper self--not the person you have known.” - -“Indeed.” - -“And--I know.” She drew back a little, looking down at her foot, which -peeped out from under the hem of her gown, as if it were a curious -thing--which it was, for beauty. “I know all that you did for me, how -good you were.” - -“Then you know nothing.” - -She looked up at me with a sudden flashing in her eyes. - -“I know all. I know that I didn’t do it. Aren’t you glad?” - -“I never supposed you had a finger in the matter.” - -“That is strange. Appearances were all against me; you knew not what I -was, or anything at all. I came into your room in--in a most -disreputable way, with an impotent tale--which was none at all. My -cloak was wet with blood. You have it now.” - -“I had it.” - -“You must have suspected me of at least some sort of hand in it; it -would have been only natural.” - -“To me it seems that it would have been most unnatural.” - -“That’s odd. I believe I’m suspected by all sorts of people; by some -of the very worst. And you never doubted me at all?” She breathed a -little quickly as if she sighed. “I am glad. So long as you know that -it was not a murderess who came through your window like a thief, I do -not seem to care what others think, which is absurd. For I had no hand -in it, nor had you; nor had Mr. Lawrence’s brother.” - -“But--who then?” - -“That, as yet, I can’t quite see. There was something strange about -it; something like a conjuring trick, which I am not sure that I -understood, even at the time. It was all done by some dreadful -creature, the mere horror of whose presence drove me from my senses. I -can’t think what it can have been.” - -When, stopping, she stood before me, with shining eyes; her lips -parted with a smile, so as to show the small white teeth within, I was -at a loss how to enter on the subject of my errand. So, as usual, I -blundered. - -“Unfortunately, men are mostly fools, and blind.” - -There my tongue stuck fast. She looked at me a little anxiously. - -“How do you mean?” - -“There are those of them who cannot see the noses on each other’s -faces.” - -“Is that so?” - -“It’s a fact. Some of them are idiots enough to believe that--that you -knew something about that scoundrel’s death.” - -“I see.” Her face lightened as if she began to perceive my drift. “You -mean that they suspect me of having murdered him. That’s no news.” - -“But I fear they go beyond suspicion.” - -“Beyond suspicion? Do you mean that they can prove it?” - -“Miss Moore! You are severe. I mean that--they may try to arrest you.” - -“Arrest me! Arrest me!” She drew herself straight up, her small fists -clenched at her sides. “But they mustn’t arrest me. You mustn’t let -them.” - -“I won’t.” - -“How--how can you stop them?” - -“I shall be only too glad to act as your guardian, if you care to try -a trip abroad until they perceive their own stupidity.” - -“A trip abroad--with you.” - -The suggestion which the words conveyed, as she pronounced them, had -not entered my thick skull. I was thunderstruck. - -“Or--or I could stay behind; or come on by the next train.” - -“I don’t see what good that would do me.” - -“I’d take care that they didn’t lay their sacrilegious hands upon -you.” - -“I don’t see how--if you weren’t there.” - -I began to stamp about the room. I had forgotten that the fact of her -being a woman made a difference in all sorts of ways. The situation -was more complicated than I had allowed for. - -“Miss Moore, I’m an idiot.” - -“Yes?” - -There was something in the way in which she laid emphasis on the note -of interrogation which robbed the word of its sting. - -“But I’m not, in some respects, such an idiot as you might suppose.” - -“Oh.” - -This was said with a twinkle of laughter. - -“Can you trust me?” - -“With my life; with what is dearer.” - -“Will you do as I tell you?” - -“Implicitly.” - -“Go upstairs, put your hat and coat on, and some things in a bag.” - -“How many things? In what sized bag?” - -“Enough to take you to Paris.” - -“To Paris? Am I going to Paris? Oh, but I’m wanted at the theatre; -they’re clamouring for me.” - -“Let them clamour. Will you be so kind as to do what I tell you? -Excuse me, Miss Moore, one moment! Do you mind my bringing a man in -here, and making him comfortable, till after we are gone?” - -“Please explain.” - -“Well, there’s a man in the street who, I believe, is watching the -house.” - -“Is he going to try to arrest me? Has he a warrant in his pocket?” - -“Nothing of the kind. Only he might try to follow us to see where we -went, and that wouldn’t be convenient.” - -“Do you propose to hurt him?” - -“Not a hair of his head! I promise you.” - -“Are you going to try on him the effect of a little reasoning? You -certainly have, beyond other men, the persuasive manner. You might -induce him to see things in a proper light. If you think it necessary, -you can try.” - -Her words reminded me of what old Morley had said. I thought the -sarcasm was a little hard. I winced. - -“There is one other thing, Miss Moore. How many servants have you in -the house?” - -“One at present. The cook is out.” - -“Could you send that one out on an errand which would detain her, say, -an hour. We don’t want her to know that we left the house together--or -indeed anything.” - -“You have an eye for details. I perceive that I’m entering on another -adventure. If you will take a stroll for a quarter of an hour, when -you return you will find her gone. I shall have my hat and coat on, -and some things in a bag.” - -“Good. When you are ready, go out as softly as you can, without coming -in here, and without taking any notice of me at all. Leave your bag in -the passage; I’ll carry it. Go into the Fulham Road, and stroll -towards Walham Green. I’ll come to you as soon as I’m able.” - -“You won’t hurt him?” - -“I’ll not do him the slightest damage.” - -I opened the door for her to leave the room. She passed upstairs; I -went out into the street. The man was still at the corner; he eyed me -intently as I passed. I paid no attention to him whatever. Strolling -leisurely, I crossed the Fulham Road, and, through some devious and -dirty by-streets, I gained the King’s Road. At an oilman’s shop I -purchased a dozen yards of stout clothes line. Looking at my watch, I -found that I had been absent nearly ten minutes. With the same -leisurely gait I retraced my steps. The man was still at his corner. - -He was an out-size in policemen; all of five foot ten, well set up, -with a carriage which denoted muscle. Fortunately for my purpose, his -face did not point to a surplus of brains; he struck me as being as -stupid as I was. I marched straight up to him with an air of -brusqueness. - -“You’re from the Yard. Why on earth didn’t you give me the tip when I -drove past you at first? You saw me staring at you hard enough. I’ve -been on a wild goose chase, all because of your stupidity; you shall -hear of it again!” He touched his hat. “I’ve just come from the court; -Inspector Symonds is detained; I’m on this job at present. Has anybody -come out of 22 since I did?” - -“A young woman, sir.” - -“A young woman. And you let her go?” - -“It was only the servant.” - -“Only the servant! Which way did she go.” - -“She came out into the road here, and then got on to a Piccadilly -’bus. My instructions were to keep an eye on the young lady. I wasn’t -told anything about the servant.” - -“Oh, weren’t you? Then a pretty mess you seem to be making. Come into -the house; I may want you. So keep your eyes and ears well open.” - -I started off at a smart pace. He hesitated, then fell in at my side. - -“I beg your pardon, sir, but do you mind telling me your name? I don’t -seem to remember your face.” - -I strode on, unheeding. - -“Now, in you come. And mind what I told you about keeping your eyes -and ears wide open.” - -I pushed him through the gate. The lady’s wits had been on the alert; -she had left the door open. - -“Hallo! the door’s open,” I cried. “That looks suspicious. I shouldn’t -be surprised if the bird had flown. Servant-girl you thought she was. -That’ll be a bit of all right for you. Come into this room.” - -I led the way into the sitting-room. So soon as we were in, I began to -undo the packet of rope. - -“Just look out of the window and see if that’s any one coming in.” - -He seemed as if he could not quite make me out, or the whole -proceeding. But, after a moment’s delay, he did as he was told. He -went to the window. In buying the clothes line, I had tied a slip-knot -at one end, so as to form a rudimentary lasso. So soon as his back was -turned I had this over his head, tightening the knot: his arms were -pinioned to his sides. He struggled fiercely. - -“It is a plant, is it?----if I didn’t think it was! So this is your -little game!” - -“This is my little game; and, if you take my advice, my lad, you’ll -own you’re beaten. Because you are.” - -He was. I ran the rope about him, pulling him off his feet with a -jerk. As he lay on the floor, I trussed him hand and foot. I have had -some experience in the handling of ropes, and can tie a knot or two. I -was prepared to guarantee that, unaided, he would never move again. - -“What are you going to do to me?” he asked. - -“Nothing, my good man. It’s surely more comfortable in here than out -in the street in such weather as this? The unfortunate part of the -business is that I am so anxious that you should not make a noise that -I’m afraid I shall have to take measures to keep you still.” - -“You are not going to gag me?” - -“I fear I must. But, to prove that I regret having to subject you to -inconvenience, I am going to slip two five-pound notes into the breast -pocket of your coat. When you’re untied you will be able to drink my -health with them.” - -“Drink your health! My God, I will!” - -“Just so. But not with so much strenuosity. Such language should not -be used.” - -I had bought, at the same shop as the clothesline, some cotton -wadding. I thrust as large a piece of this into his mouth as it could -conveniently hold. Then, lifting him, I laid him carefully on the -floor in a corner of the room behind a couch. As the couch hid him, -and he could neither move nor utter a sound, it was possible that he -might remain there for some considerable time without his presence -being discovered. - -I went out of the room. In the passage was a bag. Picking it up, I -passed out of the house. On the pavement, just outside the door, was -the lady. She was full of concern about the gentleman I had left -behind. - -“Have you--have you hurt him?” - -“Not in the least. I have simply tied him up, so as to prevent him -following us to see where we go.” - -I did not think it was necessary to say anything about the gagging. - -“Have you tied him very tight?” - -“Not I.” - -“Is he strong?” - -“I never asked.” - -“But you could see. How big is he?” I told her. We were moving towards -the Fulham Road. She repeated her little trick of drawing a hurried -breath. “I wish I were a strong man!” - -“You are stronger than any man I ever knew.” - -“How can you say such a thing? Am I as strong as you?” - -I sighed--in earnest. - -“Are you as strong as I?” - -“You choose to talk in riddles. You know very well that in your hands -I should be like a baby. Where are you taking me?” - -“I hardly know. I hope out of the shadow into the sunshine.” - -“Suppose a policeman--see, there is one over the road--were to come up -now, and say I was his prisoner. What should you do?” - -“I should explain that he was mistaken.” - -“Explain!” She laughed. “But you can’t explain to every one, in the -same fashion, for ever.” - -I was startled. Her question had a little startled me. To tell the -truth, I was wondering myself where I was taking her. The Paris boat -train did not start till nine. It was barely five. To stay in London -for another four hours would be to run a risk. By that time, too, a -watch might have been set upon the boat express. - -We were walking towards the Brompton Road. I was just thinking of -calling a cab, being only restrained from doing so by the doubt as to -where I should tell him to drive us, when my attention was diverted by -an exclamation from the lady. - -“Mr. Ferguson! Look! There’s Mr. Lawrence!” - -I glanced in the direction she was pointing. In front, just far enough -off to cause the outlines to be a little obscured by the mist, was a -figure I seemed to recognise. I quickened my steps. - -“Lawrence! Philip Lawrence!” - -Although his back was turned to us, I could not but suspect that he -had seen us first. Because, scarcely had I spoken, than, darting into -the road, he sprang into a passing cab without troubling to stop it, -shouted some direction to the driver, which I could not catch, and in -an instant was away. To pursue and leave the lady there was out of the -question. I waited till she came up. - -“Are you sure that it was Lawrence?” I inquired. - -“Certain! I have only seen him once, but then under circumstances -which make it impossible that I ever could mistake him. There is a -portrait of the man upon my brain--life-size. Wherever and whenever I -see him I shall know that it is he.” - -“It is odd that he should have run away.” - -I was puzzled; not only by his flight, but by the rapidity with which -it had been performed. - -“Yes, it is odd. What’s that?” - -A note of fear was in her voice. She came closer to me. I saw that her -face had suddenly grown white. The hand which she had placed on my arm -was trembling. - -Through the mist, out there in the Fulham Road, there came the sound -of a woman’s laughter. It was that curious laughter which I had heard -in Edwin Lawrence’s room--soft, low, musical; yet within it, -indefinable, yet not to be mistaken, a quality which was pregnant with -horrible suggestion. - -At the sound, for some cause, my heart stood still. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - A CHECK AT THE START - -We looked each other in the face. - -“You heard it?” Her voice quavered. - -“I heard something. It was only a woman’s laughter. She is somewhere -close at hand, but is hidden from us by the fog.” - -“It was That which did it. Do you think I can be wrong? It is with Mr. -Lawrence. It is his shadow: it follows close behind him.” - -She was shivering from head to foot. Her eyes were distended, her face -white; I was fearful of I knew not what. Hailing a passing hansom, I -had practically to lift her into it. She seemed to have all at once -grown helpless. I told the driver to take us to Victoria--fast. An -idea had occurred to me. The Ostend boat train left at half-past five. -We might be able to catch it. Anything was preferable to inaction. The -sooner we were out of London the better it would be. She was still -trembling as she sat beside me in the cab. I tried to calm her. - -“You are too sensitive. It was only a trick of your imagination, you -let it run away with you. If you are not careful you will be ill; then -what shall I do?” - -She came closer to me still. - -“Save me! You will save me!” - -It was like the pleading of a frightened child. The contact of her -person with mine set me shivering, too; it was as if I were thrilling -with a delicious pain. - -“At present there is nothing from which to save you. When there is, -I’ll not be wanting, rest assured.” - -“Put your arm about me.” I did as I was told, wondering if she were -mad, or I. “How is it that I only feel safe when I am close to -you--and the closer the safer?” - -“It is because God is very good to me.” - -“To you? God is good to you?” - -“Has He not put it into your heart to feel safe with me?” - -“You think so? Take your arm away. I am better now. I am not--not such -a coward. You think it is God who has put it into my heart to feel -safe with you. I wonder!” - -“I am sure.” - -“You are a strange man.” - -“I pray that you may not always think so.” - -“Have you--have you had many friends among women?” - -“Never one; unless I may count you as a friend.” - -“Oh yes, you may count me--as a friend. Do you care for women?” - -“I did not know it until now.” - -She laughed. I was glad to have lightened her mood. - -“You are odd--you are really very quaint.” She leaned out of the cab. -“Where are we? I have not the least idea where you are taking me.” - -“To Victoria; to try to catch the Ostend boat.” - -“Ostend? Are we going there?” - -“I think we’d better.” - -“But---- Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter, but I really was not -anticipating a trip to Ostend quite so soon. Just now you talked of -Paris.” - -“And it may be Paris after all; only the Ostend boat goes first.” - -“And time’s the essence of the matter. I see. Between this and the -departure of the Paris train I run a risk of being arrested. That is -to bring it very close.” - -I was still, hardly knowing what to say. What she said was true; this -was a case in which, at any moment, truth might decline to be trifled -with. She, too, was silent. Leaning back in her own corner, as far as -possible from me, she looked forward into the fog. Starting for the -other end of the world at a moment’s notice was a commonplace event -with me. An unexpected run to Brussels was to her a thing so strange -as to be almost awful. I looked at my watch; called to the driver. - -“Can’t you press on a little faster? We shall lose our train.” - -“Why such hurry? Let us lose it.” - -On that point we disagreed; I was not disposed to lose it. But I said -nothing. The man whipped up his horse. Presently he began to insinuate -his way into the station yard, which was blocked with vehicles. I saw -that for him to thread his way between them would be a work of time. -Moments were precious. - -“Come!” I said. “Let’s get out. We shall reach the pavement quicker -than he will, and the train is already due to start.” - -We descended into the road. Picking our steps between the horses’ -heads, we gained the station. I tore to the booking-office, she, -laughing, close at my heels, as if the whole thing were a delightful -jest. - -“Two firsts to Brussels!” - -“Too late, sir; train’s just off.” As the clerk spoke a whistle -sounded. “There she goes. Platform’s closed; you won’t be able to -catch her.” - -The lady’s face was alive with smiles. - -“There! After all our hurry! Isn’t that annoying?” - -She didn’t look as if she thought it was annoying in the least. Boys -were shouting out the editions of the evening papers. Placards were -displayed on the bookstall close at hand. I saw her glance at one, -which had already caught my own attention. - -“‘Imperial Mansions Murder. Extraordinary Scene at the Coroner’s -Inquest.’ Has the inquest been held? And what has happened there? What -does it mean by ‘extraordinary scene’?” - -I felt as if every one was on the point of calling out, “Here’s the -man who locked up the coroner’s court! Here’s the woman he’s spiriting -away!” The sudden sight of that placard had got on my nerves. I was -brusque, brutal. - -“Bother the inquest! What we’ve got to think about’s that train.” - -“Indeed? So you can be bad-tempered if you like, and civil too. I was -wondering if you were always a model of lamblike decorum.” - -“I beg your pardon, but--the fact is, I’d made up my mind to catch -that train.” - -“Had you? And you’d also made up your mind that I shouldn’t know what -was in the papers. You’re very considerate, Mr. Ferguson.” - -I glanced round, startled. Her outspoken mention of my name took me -aback. No doubt all the world was talking of John Ferguson; looking -for him; wondering where he was. I did not want that crowd to learn -that he was in its midst. My appearance of discomfiture she seemed to -find amusing. - -“Might I ask you just one question?” - -“You are too hard on me; you may ask a thousand.” - -“Did you propose to take me all the way to Ostend without giving me -anything to eat? Perhaps you’re not aware that four o’clock is the -actor’s dinner-hour. I’ve not had a morsel of food all day.” - -“Miss Moore!” - -Mine was the blunder then; I could have bitten my tongue off for -uttering the name. A man behind turned towards us as if he had been -struck by it--or I thought so. Had he known it, he was never so near -having his head twisted off his shoulders. Had he allowed a sign of -recognition to have escaped him, there would have been murder done. -But he was a mild-looking, grey-haired person, and the sight of the -expression with which I regarded him seemed to fill him with such -astonishment, to say nothing else, that he retreated precipitately -backwards, as if fearful that I was about to devour him then and -there. I stumbled on. - -“I entreat your forgiveness, but I--I hadn’t the faintest notion you -were hungry.” - -“No--you wouldn’t have.” - -“Meaning that I am the sort of person who never does know anything? -You are right; I am. But where shall we go? I believe there’s some -sort of place in the station where we can get something to eat.” - -“The nearest, please.” - -“But--I’m afraid that’s horrid.” - -“Don’t you know any place which isn’t horrid?” - -Scarcely ever before had my constitutional stupidity been so much to -the front. The missing of the train, the discovery that I had actually -proposed to take my companion to Ostend foodless, and in a state -approaching to starvation, the fact that the paper-boys were -repeating, under my very nose, their parrot cry, “Extraordinary scene -at an inquest!”--these things, joined to the confusion around, seemed -to addle my brain. For the moment I could not think where I could take -her to get something decent to eat. Still doubtful, I was making for -the station restaurant when some one caught me by the arm. It was Mr. -Isaac Bernstein. He seemed to be half-beside himself with excitement; -he grasped me with a vigour which was perhaps unconscious. - -“Have the goodness, Mr. Bernstein, to release my arm.” - -He burst into voluble speech. - -“This is more than I can stand, and I’m not going to have it. Don’t -touch me, or I’ll call for help. There are policemen close by and I’m -not without protection! Even a worm will turn, and now I’m going to; -so just you listen to what I’ve got to say.” - -“Your affairs, Mr. Bernstein, have no interest for me. Did you hear me -ask you to release my arm?” - -“It’s as much your affair as it is mine--every bit as much.” He waved -his umbrella. “There’s Lawrence there.” - -“Who?” - -“Lawrence! He’s been trying to do a bolt--to Ostend or some infernal -place or other, the other side of the world, for all I know--meaning -to dish me as he’s done the rest of you. But I was on to him. He’d -have been off in spite of me only he was drunk, or mad, or something, -and they wouldn’t have him in the train. Now he’s behaving like a -howling lunatic.” Releasing my arm, Mr. Bernstein took off his hat to -wipe his brow. “I believe he’s raving mad. That’s him! Did you ever -hear anything like the row he’s making?” - -As a matter of fact, while the excited gentleman was speaking, I had -become conscious that something interesting was taking place on the -platform from which the boat-train had departed. The thing was -becoming more obvious every second. Apparently the railway officials -were taking more or less vigorous measures to induce somebody to quit -the station precincts. This person, who was the centre of a curious -and rapidly increasing crowd, was announcing his opinions on divers -subjects, and on the subject of railway men in particular, at the top -of his voice and in strident tones with which I seemed familiar. - -A sudden premonition swept upon me that matters were rushing to a -head; that a few hours, a few minutes, even, would see the whole -mystery made clear. Though even then I had not an inkling of the form -which the explanation would take. As my eyes wandered I saw, peeping -at us from out of the crowd, my companion’s precious relative, Mr. -Thomas Moore. For some reason the young gentleman looked as if he were -half beside himself with fear; he was pasty white. When he perceived -that I had recognised him he slunk out of sight like a frightened cur. - -I glanced at the lady to learn if she also had observed her brother. -From her bearing I judged not, though as I eyed her I understood that -she also had seen the signs of the times, the shadows which coming -events were casting before, and that she, too, realised that the hour, -the moment, was big with her fate and mine. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - A MIRACLE - -The hustling throng came quickly forward. In its midst some one was -being propelled towards the entrance. Although he was shouting at the -top of his voice, he appeared to be offering no actual resistance, but -seemed rather to be regarding the proceedings as a joke. In spite of -the hubbub Mr. Bernstein’s accents reached my ear. - -“Did you ever hear anything like him? Isn’t he a beauty? And that’s -the man who’s had I don’t know how much cash out of me--a hatful! And -that’s how he goes on!” - -I was indifferent to Mr. Bernstein’s lamentations. As the crowd came -nearer I was beginning to ask myself if I was dreaming; if, again, I -was about to become the victim of a nightmare imagining. I turned to -Miss Moore. - -“Hadn’t you--better go? Hadn’t I better--get you out of this?” - -I was conscious that my voice was a little hoarse. Hers was clear and -resonant. Although she did not speak loudly, it seemed to ring above -the din. - -“Go? Now? When it’s coming face to face, the light is breaking, I’m -beginning to see clear, and it’s my call? No; now I’ll stay and play -the scene right through until the curtain drops. It was God who made -us miss that train.” - -The crowd was drawing very close. Was I asleep or waking? Were my eyes -playing tricks, my senses leaving me? What suddenly made the world -seem to spin round and round? Who was it in the midst of the -people--the man they were hustling--who raved and screamed? Was he a -creature born of delirium, or a thing of flesh and blood? - -It was from the girl at my side that recognition first came. - -“It’s he!” she cried. “It’s he!” - -It was he--the wretch who had set us all by the ears; who had fooled -and duped us; who had played upon us, as a last stroke, a trick whose -nature, even yet, I did not understand. I strode into the crowd. - -“Let me pass! Make way for me!” - -They made way. It was well for them they did; the strength of a dozen -Samsons was that moment in my arms. I planted myself in front of him. - -“How is it that you’ve come back--from the gates of hell?” - -“Ferguson! It’s you!” He broke into a peal of laughter, which spoke of -pain, not pleasure. “But I’ve not come back! They’re still stoking the -fires!” He threw out his arms as if referring to the jeering mob, -which pressed upon us. “Here are the attendant demons--can’t you see -them?” - -I continued standing still, regarding him. - -“It is Edwin Lawrence, as I live. Edwin--not Philip.” - -“Yes; not Philip--Edwin!” He laughed again. “Would you like to see the -strawberry mark? It’s there.” - -“What is this game in which you have been taking a hand?” - -“It’s a game of my own invention--and hers!” He made an upward -movement with his hand. “It was from her the inspiration came. She -named the stakes, framed the rules, started the game, watched the -play--and with both eyes she’s watched it ever since. Those eyes of -hers! They never sleep, and never blink or wink, but watch, watch, -watch all the time. They’ve watched me ever since the game began. -They’re watching now! She haunts and hounds me--into the train and out -of it. She’s here now--enjoying the joke. Hark! Can’t you hear her?” -He stopped to listen. I heard nothing out of the common, though it -seemed he did. “That’s her laughter!” He broke into discordant -merriment. “I play the part of Echo. She has me, body, soul, and -spirit; and she thinks it such a jest!” - -He spoke as men do in fevers. I could see that there were some about -us who set him down as mad. There were those who jeered, as fools will -at the sight of a man’s anguish, when, in the abandonment of his -shame, he trails his soul in the dust. I had seen persons in his case -before. He was not mad, as yet, but on the border line, where men -fight with demons. He had been drinking, to drive them back; but they -had come the more, threatening, on every hand, to shut him in for -ever. He knew what it was they threatened. It was the anguish of the -knowledge which caused the sweat to stand in beads upon his brow. - -The railway officials, I fancy, took it to be a case of incipient -delirium tremens. A person in authority addressed himself to me. - -“Are you a friend of this gentleman’s, sir?” - -“I know him well.” - -“Are you willing to undertake the charge of him? You see he’s not in a -fit state to go about alone.” - -“I’ll take charge of him.” - -“Then you’ll be so good as to remove him from the station at once. -He’s already given us more than sufficient trouble.” - -Lawrence interposed with what he intended to be an assumption of the -grand manner. - -“My good Mr. Railway-porter, or whatever you may be, I will remove -myself from your objectionable station without any hint from you. My -destination was Ostend, and is now Pimlico. This is an acquaintance of -mine who owes me £1880; but I don’t require him to take charge of me. -There already is somebody who does that. Can’t you hear her? That’s -her laughing.” - -“Come,” I said. “Let’s get into a cab.” - -“Thank you, I prefer walking. Nothing like exercise when you are -liverish. Are you alone?” - -Miss Moore came through the crowd. - -“No; I am with him.” - -He stared at her as if in doubt; then with sudden recognition-- - -“Ah! It is the sister of the brother--the affectionate relative of our -dear Tom--the beautiful Miss Moore! It is like a scene out of one of -the plays in which you are the bright, particular star. The ghosts are -gathering round. You were there; you saw her?” - -“Who?” - -“The Goddess!” - -“Was it--a Goddess?” - -“That’s a demon!” - -“What do you mean?” She took me by the arm. “Ask him what he means.” - -Lawrence answered. - -“It’s not a thing the meaning of which can be clarified by words. -Come, and you shall see; come together--Mr. Ferguson and you.” - -She looked at me, inquiry in her eyes. I questioned him. - -“Where do you propose to take us?” - -“To a little place of mine, where the Goddess is.” - -“What is this stuff about the Goddess?” - -“Come, and you shall see.” - -I glanced at her. - -“Let’s go,” she said. - -He caught her words. - -“There speaks the lady who would learn; the woman possessed of the -spirit of inquiry.” - -I repeated my former suggestion. - -“Let’s get into a cab.” - -But he declined. - -“No; I’ll have none of your cabs, I’ll walk. I’m cribb’d, cabined, and -confined out in the open; in a cab I’d stifle. There’s a hand upon my -heart, a grip upon my throat, a weight upon my head; they make it hard -to breathe. I’ll be in close quarters soon enough; I’ll keep out of -them as long as I can.” - -I turned to the officials. “Can’t you keep these people back? I don’t -want to have them following us through the streets. The man’s not -drunk, he’s ill.” - -“I should get him into a cab.” - -Lawrence, hearing what the fellow said, rushed at him in a fit of -maniacal fury, repeating, in a crescendo scale-- - -“You’d get me into a cab! You’d get me into a cab! You’d get me into a -cab! I’d kill you first.” The man shrank back as if fearful that his -last hour had come. - -We went out of the station, a motley crowd--Lawrence with Miss Moore, -and me close at his heels; behind, before, on either side, a -miscellaneous assemblage of fools. I would have prevented her from -coming had I had my way. I told her so at starting; but she whispered -in my ear-- - -“I’m not afraid. Are you?” - -“I am afraid for you--of these blackguards; of the mood he’s in; of -where he’s taking us; of what may happen. I don’t know what devil’s -trick it is he has been playing, but I’m sure it is a devil’s trick, -and there may be worse to come.” - -“I’m safe with you.” - -“I doubt it.” - -“But I am sure. The light is coming; I’d like to see the brightness of -the day, for mine honour’s sake, which I thought might be a -consideration, perhaps, with you. Still, I’m under orders. If you bid -me I will go. But--mayn’t I come?” - -I could deny her nothing which she asked in such a tone, though it -were an apple out of Eden. But I was gruff. - -“Then take my arm.” - -“I’d like to.” - -I know I was a fool, and should have forbidden her to go with us, nor -have allowed her, wheedle as she might, to have run the risk of what -might be to come; but when I felt her little hand upon my arm, I would -not have had her take it off again, not--not for a great deal. - -When we had gone a little way from the station, Mr. Bernstein, -corkscrewing his way through the crowd, reached Lawrence’s side. -Apparently, although he had made an effort to screw his courage to the -sticking point, he was still not quite satisfied as to the sort of -reception which he might receive; he spoke with such an air of -deprecation. - -“Now, Ted, dear boy, don’t be shirty, it’s only me. Do take my -advice--be careful! Don’t go too far! Be reasonable, and I’ll be the -best friend you ever had, as I always have been; only--do pull up -before it’s too late!” - -Lawrence, standing still, addressed himself to the crowd. - -“Gentlemen--and ladies!--because I believe there are some ladies among -you--real ladies!--allow me to introduce to you Mr. Isaac Bernstein, -usurer, Jew, who makes a speciality of dealing in forged bills. He -keeps a school for forgers, where young penmen are trained in the -delicate arts of imitating other people’s signatures. He’s been the -cause of many a good man’s being sent to gaol; where, one day, as sure -as he’s alive, he’ll go to join them.” - -Mr. Bernstein stammered and stuttered. - -“Don’t--don’t talk to me like that! The--the man’s stark mad!” - -“Not yet. Still sane enough to make the world acquainted with Isaac -Bernstein, trafficker in forgeries.” - -With his open palm he struck the Jew a resounding blow on either -cheek. The people roared with laughter. I turned to the lady. - -“You see? I must go to him. I shall have to leave you.” - -“We will go together.” - -She kept close to my side as I went forward. I expected to see -Lawrence repeat his assault. Bernstein stood looking at him, -motionless, gasping for breath, as if he were on the verge of an -apoplectic fit. Taking him by the shoulder I sent him spinning off the -pavement. - -“Leave him alone. The fellow will get his deserts elsewhere.” - -Lawrence clapped his hands like a child. - -“Bravo! Twirl him round--roll him in the mud! She enjoys it; can’t you -hear how she’s laughing?” - -He raised his hand in an attitude of attention. - -“I can hear nothing.” - -“But I can.” Miss Moore spoke from behind my shoulder. “I can hear -It.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“It which was present in the room; It which did it all; the sound -which we heard in the Fulham Road just now. Listen! Can’t you hear it, -too?” - -It might have been my imagination--probably was--but, as she spoke, I -certainly did think that I recognised, as if it issued from the lips -of some one who was within reach of where we stood, the woman’s -laughter which had in it so singular and disagreeable a quality. It -had on me a most uncomfortable effect. I returned to Lawrence, fearful -lest, if I was not careful, the proceedings might take a shape in -which I might relish them less even than I did at present. - -“Come. Let’s be moving.” - -“With pleasure. Life is movement, and exercise is the thing for the -liver.” - -“What is the address of the place to which you are taking us?” - -He laid his finger against his nose. - -“That’s a secret which I wouldn’t divulge for worlds. There’s a lady -there--a goddess! And a demon! Would you have me tell all the world -where she’s to be found, as if she were a person of no reputation. -She’s with me all the time; she never leaves me for a moment alone; -and yet, all the while, she waits for me at home. That’s to have a -familiar in attendance, if you please.” - -I made no reply. That his words had meaning, and were not the mere -ravings which they seemed, I did not doubt. I was asking myself what -was the solution of the problem to which they pointed, and was still -obliged to own that I had no notion. I had, also, my attention partly -occupied by my efforts to keep the rabble from a too close attendance -on the lady, whose little hand again caressed my arm. - -Lawrence was swinging along at a good round pace, his hat a little at -the back of his head; his eyes, lips, every muscle of his face were in -constant motion. His arms were as if they had been hung on wires, -which continually thrust them this way and that. He was not for a -moment still. If not speaking aloud, he muttered to himself. Presently -he began upon a theme which I would have thanked him to have avoided. - -“So, Ferguson, you’re a humorist--practical and actual. I’ve been -reading the news--still sane enough to read the papers--how you locked -the coroner in his court. I’d have given one of Bernstein’s forged -bills to have been there to see, though it was on me that they were -sitting. I thought I never should have done laughing. And she--the -Goddess--she’s laughing still.” - -The lady put a question. - -“What’s that he’s saying?” - -“He’s telling about some nonsense which he saw in the papers.” - -Lawrence interposed. - -“Nonsense, he calls it! And excellent nonsense, too! Haven’t you -heard? Has no one told you? Don’t you know? Charming sister of my dear -friend Tom, to-day the coroner’s been sitting on my corpse--as I live, -upon my corpse! Ferguson’s been there as witness. They wanted him to -say, it seems, that you had killed me--yes, you, with your own two -small hands; but he wouldn’t. He said he’d see them--warmer first; as -warm as I am now. I can’t think where, at this time of the year, the -heat can come from. I’m on fire inside and out. So they talked of -sending him to gaol. - -“But, bless their simple souls, they didn’t know their man; how that -he was a fellow of infinite jest. For when they talked of locking him -up, he locked them up instead; marched straight out, turned the key in -the lock, with them on the other side of the door--coroner and jury, -counsel and witnesses, audience and policeman--the whole noble, -gallant company. And so he left them, sitting on my corpse.” - -As might have been expected, the rabble, which still hung round us -like a fringe, hearing what he said, caught something of his meaning. -They bandied it from mouth to mouth. - -“That’s Ferguson, that there tall bloke. He’s the cove as locked the -coroner up this afternoon, Imperial Mansions murder case. Didn’t you -hear the other bloke a-saying so? No lies! I tell you it is!” - -While the gutter-snipes wrangled, playing fast and loose with my -name--with my reputation, too--the lady whispered in my ear. Despite -the noise they made I heard her plain. - -“So that’s why you came to fetch me? Now I understand; the secret’s -out. It’s another service you have done me! Aren’t you afraid that the -weight of obligation will be more than I can carry? Yet you needn’t -fear! They’re the kind of debts I don’t at all mind owing--you, since -one day I hope to pay them every one.” - -“You exaggerate. And Lawrence is a fool.” - -“Yes. So are we all fools; perhaps that’s why some of us are wise.” - -I liked to hear her voice; to feel her hand upon my arm. Yet, every -moment, my concern was getting greater. The crowd was growing, both in -numbers and in impudence. Any second they might make an ugly rush, -then there would be trouble; and that was not a scene in which I -should wish the lady to play a part. Lawrence was marching on as if he -meant to march for ever. I began seriously to ask myself if he was not -playing us still another of his tricks; if he was not leading us he -himself did not know where. On a sudden, he determined the question by -stopping before a building which, outwardly, was more like a warehouse -than a private residence. - -“At last,” he cried, “we are arrived. The Goddess waits for us -within.” - -“Is this your place?” - -“It is--and hers. _Enter omnes!_” - -He threw open the door as if he were offering the whole crowd the -freedom of the premises. I placed myself in front of it. - -“I’m hanged if it shall be _enter omnes!_ In you go.” I thrust him in. -“Now you and I together!” - -The lady and I were across the threshold. I was about to slam the door -in the face of the rabble, when some one came hurrying through the -crowd. A voice exclaimed-- - -“Stop that! Don’t shut that door! Let me in!” - -It was Inspector Symonds; with, as it seemed, a friend or two. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - IN THE PASSAGE - -The inspector I dragged in by the collar of his coat. I slammed the -door in the faces of his friends, keeping my foot against it while I -shot the bolts. - -“This won’t do! I’m not going to stand any more of your nonsense! You -let my men in!” - -There was a flaming gas-bracket in the passage. By its flare I eyed -the inspector. - -“You be so good as to understand, Mr. Symonds, that I’m going to have -no more of your nonsense.” He put his hand up to his mouth--a whistle -between his fingers. Gripping his wrist, I pinned him by the throat -against the wall. “If you are not careful, you’ll get hurt.” - -He gasped out, between his clenched teeth, “I’ll make you pay for -this! You let my men in!” - -“I’ll not let your men in--until you and I have had an explanation.” - -The lady interposed. “Don’t hurt him!” - -“I’ll not hurt him--unless he compels me. Look here, Symonds, there’s -been a mystification--a hideous blunder.” - -“I don’t want to have anything to say to you. You open that door!” - -His hands returned to his lips. Again I had to pin him against the -wall; this time I wrenched the whistle from between his fingers. - -“If you give any sort of signal, you’ll be sorry.” - -“You’ve broken my wrist!” - -“I haven’t; but I will if you don’t look out. I tell you, man, that -we’ve been on the wrong scent; you and I, and all of us. It isn’t -Edwin Lawrence who’s been murdered; he isn’t even dead.” - -“Don’t tell your tales to me.” - -“Tales! I tell you tales! Here’s Mr. Edwin Lawrence to tell his own.” - -Lawrence was standing a few steps farther down the passage, an -apparently interested spectator of what had been taking place. Symonds -turned to him. - -“This man? Who is this man?” - -Lawrence thrust his thumbs into his waistcoat armholes. - -“I’m the corpse on whom the coroner’s been sitting.” - -“Don’t play your mountebank tricks with me, sir.” - -“I’m the murdered man.” - -“Indeed? And pray what may be your name?” - -“Edwin Lawrence--at your service, entirely to command. Though I may -mention that that’s only a form of words; since, at present, I’m -really, and actually, in the service of another--a lady. Bound to her -hand and foot by a tie there’s no dissolving.” - -Symonds perceived that in his manner, to say the least, there was -something curious. As he looked at me I endeavoured to give him the -assurance which I saw that he required. - -“It is Mr. Edwin Lawrence, you may safely take my word for it. The -lady can confirm what I say.” - -Which the lady did upon the instant. The inspector was still, plainly, -in a state of uncertainty; which, under the circumstances, was -scarcely strange. - -“I don’t know if this is a trick which you have got up between you, -and which you think you can play off on me; but, anyhow, who do you -say the dead man is?” - -Lawrence chose to take the question as addressed to him. He chuckled; -there was something in the chuckle which suggested the maniac more -vividly than anything which had gone before. - -“Who’s the dead man? Ah! there’s the puzzle--and the joke! The dead -man must be me. It’s in the papers--in people’s mouths--it’s the talk -of the town. The police are searching for the wretch that slew me--the -coroner and his jury have viewed my body. It’s plain the dead man must -be me. And yet, although it’s very odd, he isn’t. It’s the rarest jest -that ever yet was played--and all hers.” He pointed with his thumb -along the passage. “It’s all her doing, conception and execution, -both. And how she has enjoyed it! Ever since she has done nothing else -but laugh. Can’t you hear her? She’s laughing now!” - -There did seem to come, through the door which was at the end of the -passage, the sound of a woman’s laughter. We all heard it. The lady -drew closer to me; I gritted my teeth; the inspector, with whom, as -yet, it had no uncomfortable associations, treated it as though it -were nothing out of the way. - -“Who’s it you’ve got in there?” - -Lawrence raised his hands as if they had been notes of exclamation. - -“A goddess! Such an one!--a pearl of the pantheon! A demon!--out of -the very heart of hell!” He fingered his shirt-collar as if it were -tight about his neck. “That’s why she relished her humorous conception -more than I have. The qualities which go to the complete enjoyment of -the jokes she plays, I lack. The laughter she compels has -characteristics which I do not find altogether to my taste. It gets -upon my brain; steals my sleep; nips my heart; fills the world -with--faces; grinning faces, all of them--like his. And so I’m -resolved to tell the joke, and I promise that it shan’t be spoilt in -telling.” This with a smile upon his lips, a something elusive in his -eyes, which, to my mind, again betrayed the lunatic. He threw out his -arms with a burst of sudden wildness. “Let them all come in--the whole -street--the city-ful! So that as many as may be may be gathered -together for the enjoyment of the joke!” - -Symonds and I exchanged glances. I spoke to him in an undertone. - -“If you take my advice, you will listen to what he has to say. Before -he’s finished, the whole story will have come out.” - -All the time there had been knockings at the door. Now some one -without made himself prominent above the others. A shout came through -the panels. - -“Symonds! Is that you in there? Shall we break down the door?” - -The voice was Hume’s. I proffered a suggestion to the inspector. - -“There is no reason why Dr. Hume should not come in. He will be able -to resolve your doubts as to whether or not this is Mr. Edwin -Lawrence. Your men I should advise you to keep outside. They will be -close at hand if they are wanted.” - -He regarded me askance, evidently still by no means sure as to the -nature of the part which I might be playing. - -“You are a curious person, Mr. Ferguson. You have your own ideas of -the way in which justice is administered in England. However, you -shall have your own way. Let Dr. Hume come in. My men can wait outside -till they are wanted.” - -I unbolted the door, keeping my foot against it, to guard against a -sudden rush. The crowd was still in waiting. It had evidently grown -larger. As the people saw that the door was being opened, there were -cries and exclamations. Hume was standing just outside. It seemed that -it had been his intention to make a dart within; but the spectacle of -me in the doorway caused him to hesitate. By him were the inspector’s -friends. Misunderstanding the situation, they made an effort to force -the door wider open. It was all I could do to hold it against them. - -“Hume, you can come in. Inspector Symonds, give your men their -instructions.” - -“Gray, are you there?” - -“Yes, sir! Do you want us?” - -“Not just now. I may do shortly; keep where you are. Send along for -some one to keep those people moving.” - -“Very good, sir. Are you all right in there?” - -“For the present I am. Keep a sharp look-out. If you hear me give the -word, come in at once--if you have to break down the door to do it.” - -“Right, sir!” - -I rebolted the door, boos and groans coming from the crowd as they -perceived themselves being shut out from the sight of anything which -there might be to see. Hume had entered. He was looking about him as -if the position of affairs were beyond his comprehension. - -“Symonds, what does all this mean? Ferguson, what new madness have you -been up to? Miss Moore, you here! This is no place for you!” - -“I think it is.” - -“I say it’s not. You ought to be in bed. Who gave you permission to -leave your room?” - -“I gave myself permission, thank you. I am quite able to take care of -myself. And, if I’m not, here’s Mr. Ferguson.” - -“Mr. Ferguson! Mr. Ferguson stands in need of some one to take care of -him.” He turned to me. “If you’ve had a hand in bringing Miss Moore -here, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, if you’re capable of shame, -which I’m beginning to doubt. Surely your own sense of decency, -embryonic though it may be, ought to have told you that it is no place -for her. What is this den which you have brought her to?” - -“Here is some one who can tell you better than I. Ask him, not me.” - -Lawrence broke into laughter. - -“That’s it, Ferguson. Hume, ask the corpse.” - -Hume stared at the speaker, as if he had been a spectre; which, -apparently, he was more than half disposed to believe that he was. - -“Lawrence! Edwin Lawrence! Is it a living man, some demoniacal -likeness, or is it a ghost? My God! is it a ghost?” - -Again Lawrence laughed. He went closer to the bewildered doctor; his -eyes flaming, his manner growing wilder as he continued speaking. - -“A ghost, Hume, write it down a ghost! I wonder if I could cheat -myself into believing I’m a ghost? Hume, you’re an authority on -madness. Look at me; do you think I’m mad? It’s a question I’ve been -putting to myself since--she began to be humorous. I see things--I -hear things--like the men who’ve been--thirsty. There’s a face which -looks into mine--a face all cut and slashed and sliced into ribbons; -and, as the blood streams down the cheek-bones, which are laid all -bare, its teeth grin at me, inside the torn and broken jaws, and it -says, ‘After all I’ve done, this is the end!’ I strike at it, with -both my fists, where the eyeballs ought to be, but I can’t knock it -away; it won’t go, it keeps on being there. I can’t sleep, though I’d -give all the world to. I’m afraid to try, because, when I shut my -eyes, I see it plainer. The blood gets on my hands; the taste gets -into my mouth; the idiot words get on my brain, ‘After all I’ve done, -this is the end!’ I can’t get away from the face and the words; -whatever I do, wherever I go, they’re there. I seem to carry them with -me. I’ve been drinking, but I can’t drink enough to shut them out; I -can’t get drunk. And, Hume, do you think I’m mad? I hope I am. For -while I’m being tortured she laughs; she keeps laughing all the time. -It’s her notion of a jest. I hope that it’s but a madman’s fancy, what -I see and hear; and that, when I get my reason back again, they’ll -go--the face and the words. You’re a scientific man. Tell me if I’m -mad.” - -Hume turned towards me. His countenance was pasty-hued. - -“What devil’s trick is this?” - -Lawrence answered, in his own fashion, as if the question had been -addressed to him. - -“That’s what it is--a devil’s trick! Hers! The Goddess’s! She’s a -demon! I’ll--I’ll tell you how it was done. She’s got me--by the -throat; bought me--body and soul. But I don’t care, I’ll be even. She -shan’t do all the scoring; I will play a hand, although, directly -afterwards, she drags me down to hell with her. Let her drag! I’m in -hell already. It can’t be worse--where she has sprung from.” - -Taking Hume by the shoulder with one hand, with the other he pointed -to the door which was at the end of the passage. He was dreadful to -look at. As he himself said, he already looked as if he were suffering -the torments of the damned. - -“She’s in there--behind that door. But although she is in there she’s -with me here. She’s always with me, wherever I am; she, the face, and -the words. You think I’m romancing, passing off on you the coinage of -a madman’s brain. I would it were so. I wish that they were lies of my -own invention, a maniac’s imaginings. Come with me; judge for -yourself. You shall see her. I will show you how the devil’s trick was -done.” - -He led the way along the passage. We followed. I know not what -thoughts were in the minds of the others. I do know that I myself had -never before been so conscious of a sense of discomfort. The lady -slipped her hand into mine. It was cold. Her fingers trembled. Even -then I would have stayed her from seeing what we were to see if I -could; but I could not. It was as if we were being borne onward -together in a dream. All the while I had a suspicion that, of us all, -Inspector Symonds was most at his ease, while it seemed to me that -Hume carried himself like a man who moved to execution. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV. - IN THE ROOM - -A large, bare, barn-like room. The walls were colour-washed; as seen -by gaslight, an uncertain shade of grey. The floor was bare. At one -end was a wooden daïs. This, and a large skylight overhead, suggested -that the apartment had been intended for a studio. Artistic properties -there were none. The furniture was scanty. In one corner was a camp -bedstead, the bedclothes in disorder. It had evidently not been made -since it was slept in. There were two small tables, one at the side -against the wall, the other in the centre of the room. Bottles and -glasses were on both. Bottles, indeed, were everywhere; designed, too, -to contain all sorts of liquids--wines, spirits, beers. Champagne -appeared to have been drunk by the gallon. On the floor, in the -corner, opposite the bedstead, were at least seven or eight dozen -unopened bottles, of all sizes, sorts, and shapes. Three or four -chairs, of incongruous design, completed the equipment of the room; -with the exception, that is, of a tall screen covered with crimson -silk which stood upon the daïs. This screen was the first object -which caught the eye on entering. One wondered if an artist’s model -were concealed behind. - -Lawrence placed his finger against his lips as he held the door open -for us to enter. - -“Ssh! She’s there, behind the screen! Listen! Can’t you hear her -laughing?” - -This time I, for one, heard nothing. There was not a sound. And, since -every sense was at the acutest tension, had there been, it would -scarcely have escaped my notice. Scarcely were we all in, than a door -on the opposite side of the room was opened, gingerly, and seemingly -with hesitation, as if the opener was by no means sure of his welcome. -Through it came the pertinacious Mr. Bernstein, and, of all persons, -young Tom Moore. At the sight of her brother the lady shrank closer to -my side. The inspector appeared to regard the advent of the newcomers -with suspicion, as though doubtful lest there were more to follow. - -“Who are these men? Where do they come from?” - -Lawrence explained. - -“Inspector Symonds, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Isaac -Bernstein--dealer in forged bills and patron of penmen. Surely you -have heard of Bernstein.” - -“Oh yes, I’ve heard of Bernstein. So you are Mr. Isaac Bernstein. -Who’s the other man?” - -“The other man is”--this with a glance towards the lady--“merely a -thief.” - -“I’m no thief! I’ll let you know I’m not to be called -thief--especially by you!” - -Young Moore’s disclaimer was half whine, half snarl. Bernstein took up -his tale. - -“Mr. Symonds, I’m glad to meet you, sir. Our--our friend here is fond -of his joke. You mustn’t take him seriously. It--it’s his way to say -things which he doesn’t mean. I just stepped in to say a word to him -in private--just one word; so I hope you’ll forgive me if I seem to be -intruding. Lawrence, I--I came with our young friend here along the -little back passage, which the models used to use, because I--I wanted -to speak one word to you in private. Would you mind stepping on one -side just--just for half a moment.” - -“No, Bernstein, I won’t. Anything you have to say to me, you’ll say in -public; at the top of your voice; out loud. I’m going to say my say so -that every one may hear me--she and they.” - -“Now, Lawrence, be reasonable, I do beg of you. Let me make to you -just this one remark.” - -Drawing closer, Mr. Bernstein dropped his voice to a whisper. Taking -him by both shoulders, Lawrence began to shake him to and fro. - -“Speak up, Bernstein, speak up! Shout, man, shout!” - -“Don’t Lawrence, you’ll hurt me!” - -“Hurt you! Hurt you! If I could only hurt you as you’ve hurt me, you -pretty fellow! Why didn’t you save your skin by taking to your heels? -For me there’s no salvation, because of her, and the face, and the -words. But for you there was a chance. Now there’s none! Now there’s -none!” - -He flung the Jew away from him, so that he went reeling half across -the room. Mr. Bernstein addressed himself, with stammering lips, to -the inspector. - -“Mr. Symonds, he’s--he’s not right in his head; he’s excited--he’s -been drinking; look at those bottles!” - -Lawrence threw out his arms with a laugh. - -“Look at those bottles! Evidences of a giant’s thirst! I’ll have -another!” - -Taking a bottle of champagne out of the collection in the corner, with -what looked like a palette knife he struck the neck off with a -cleanness and dexterity which denoted practice. The wine foamed up. He -filled a soda-water tumbler, emptying it at a draught. - -“That’s the stuff! It’s got a sting in it! I like my drink to have a -sting!” - -Bernstein drew the inspector’s attention to his proceedings. - -“You see. That’s how he goes on--drink! drink! drink! He does nothing -else but drink. You wouldn’t pay any attention to his ravings when -they reflect upon a respectable man?” - -“Respectable man! Isaac Bernstein, respectable man?” - -He tossed the bottle he was holding towards the Jew. If the other had -not ducked, it would have struck him. - -“He’s a liar, that’s what he is; a liar to his finger-tips. No one who -knows him would believe him on his oath.” - -This was young Moore. Lawrence pointed at him with his tumbler. - -“A Solomon risen to judgment! See truth’s imaged superscription on his -brow.” - -The lady stepped forward before I had guessed her intention. - -“What he is he in great part owes to you--and to him!”--pointing to -the Jew. “You are an older man than he, with a wider knowledge of the -world. You have used him as a tool with which to save yourselves. You -found him in a ditch--in the same ditch in which you were yourselves. -Instead of helping him out you dragged him farther in, pressing him -down in the mire, so that, by dint of standing on his body, you might -yourselves reach the bank, at the cost of his entire destruction. -Though he is guilty, your guilt is a thousand times as great.” - -“There speaks the actress. Your sentiments, Miss Moore, do you credit; -though, being of the stage, they’re stagey. They suppose that you can -make a good man bad. I doubt it, be he old or young. All that you can -do, is to bring to a head the badness which is in a bad one. -Bernstein, your brother, and I, were born with a twist in us; a moral -malformation; a trend in the grain which, as we got our growth, gave a -natural inclination in a particular direction. I doubt if we could -have gone straight if we had tried. You may take it for granted that -we did not weary ourselves with vain efforts. I know that I did not. -The things I liked had to be, like ginger, hot in the mouth; my -pleasures had all to be well peppered. Your insipidities I never -relished; nor was the fact that they happened to be virtuous a -sufficient sauce. - -“As it happens, in this best of all possible worlds, spice costs -money. And there’s the rub. For I had none--or as good as none. But -I’d a brother who had. An all-seeing Providence and an -indiscriminating parent, had caused him to be amply dowered with -worldly goods. I made several efforts with my own hands and brains to -supply myself with money. Sometimes they’d succeed; oftener they would -fail. When they failed, in the most natural possible manner, I looked -to my brother--my only brother--to make good the deficiency. To do -this he now and then objected; which was odd. Until, one day, I came -upon a man named Bernstein.” - -The Jew, who had been listening with parted lips and watchful, -troubled eyes, to what the other had been saying, now went forward to -him, cringingly. - -“Lawrence, good old friend, remember all I’ve done for you, and--and -be careful what you say.” - -“I’ll remember, and so shall you; you never will be able to accuse me -of forgetting. This man, Bernstein, was a Jew--an usurer.” - -“I lend money to gentlemen who are in need of it, that’s all; there’s -no harm in it. If I didn’t some one else would.” - -“He negotiated loans on terms which varied--as I quickly learned. I -had had some experience of usurers; but this was a new type.” - -“How new? Circumstances compel one to alter one’s terms--it’s only -business.” - -“He lent me a little money on what he considered reasonable terms.” - -“And so they were--most reasonable. You know yourself they were.” - -“‘When you want more,’ he said, ‘you must bring me another name upon -the bill.’ I asked, ‘Whose name?’ He said, ‘Your brother’s.’ ‘Do you -think my brother would back a bill of mine? He’d see me farther -first!’ ‘That,’ he said, ‘is a pity.’ And so it was a pity. Brothers -should be friendly; they should help each other; it’s only right. - -“‘Come,’ he said, ‘and dine with me.’ I dined. After dinner he began -again about the bill. ‘I’ll give you £700 for a three months’ bill -for a thousand with your brother’s name on it.’ ‘I tell you that -nothing would induce my brother to back a bill of mine.’ ‘If you were -to bring me such a bill I shouldn’t ask how it got there.’ Then he -looked at me, and I saw what he meant. ‘That’s it, is it? I’ve sailed -pretty close to the wind, but I’ve never got quite so far as that.’ He -filled himself another glass of wine. ‘You say you want the money -badly. The sooner you let me have the bill, the sooner your wants will -be relieved.’ I let him have the bill in the morning. At the end of -three months there was a storm in the air.” - -“I knew nothing of it--he invents it all. The bill was duly met when -it was presented.” - -“After my brother and I had come pretty near to murder, I was still, -as ever, in want of money. But this time it was Bernstein who came to -me. - -“‘I hear you’re pressed.’ I complimented him on the correctness of his -information. ‘It’s no good,’ said he, ‘peddling with hundreds. It’s a -good round sum you want to set you clear.’ I admitted it; and wondered -where the good round sum was coming from. ‘I tell you what I’ll do,’ -he said. ‘You bring me five bills for a thousand each, with your -brother’s name on them, and I’ll give you two thousand five hundred -for the lot.’ I told him that it couldn’t be done. I’d promised my -brother that I wouldn’t play any more tricks with his name, and I -meant to keep my word. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘that’s a pity.’” - -“I said nothing of the kind. It is not to be believed; those who know -me will tell you it is not to be believed. It is against my nature.” - -“‘I think,’ he continued, ‘I know how it can be managed. I know a -young fellow whom I’ll introduce to you. You may find him of use. He’s -a first-rate penman.’ ‘Do you mean that he’s an expert forger?’ -‘Lawrence,’ cried Mr. Bernstein, ‘you shouldn’t use such words--you -really shouldn’t.’” - -“You hear him admit it? I said, ‘You should not use such words.’ I -have always said it--always.” - -“He made me known to this expert penman, getting up a three-cornered -dinner for that especial purpose. The expert penman was our young -friend here--Tom Moore.” - -“I never wanted to know you--never. I told him that I didn’t.” - -Mr. Bernstein contradicted the young gentleman’s disclaimer. - -“Now, Moore, that is not so. You were always willing to make his -acquaintance; why not? He was a gentleman of family, of fortune. Why -should you not have been willing to know such an one? - -“He didn’t turn out like that, did he? Look how he served me!” - -“Ah, that is another matter. We could not have foreseen how he was to -turn out. We supposed him to be a gentleman of reputation--of -character.” - -“Innocent-minded Bernstein! Ingenuous Tom Moore! After dinner Moore -returned with me to my rooms.” - -“You invited me.” - -“I did--that’s true; and you came. I said to him, ‘I hear you’re a bit -of a penman.’” - -“I didn’t know what you meant.” - -“You wouldn’t. I laid five bill-stamps in front of him.” - -“There was nothing on them.” - -“True again; there wasn’t. I showed him my brother’s signature at the -bottom of a letter, and I asked him if he thought that he could make -a nice clean copy of it in the corner of each stamp.” - -“You never said what you were going to do with it.” - -“Still correct--I didn’t. But you said, ‘How much are you going to -give me?’” - -“Well, you were a stranger to me; you didn’t expect I was going to do -you a favour for nothing?” - -“Hardly. I said I’d give you a hundred pounds, which I thought was -pretty fair pay for a little copying. But you said, ‘I want five -hundred.’” - -“You didn’t give me five hundred pounds, not you! You know you didn’t! -Or anything like!” - -“Accurate as ever. I couldn’t see my way to quite as much as that. I -said you should have two hundred.” - -“That night you never gave me any money at all.” - -“No. But in the morning I carried to Mr. Isaac Bernstein five bills -for a thousand pounds apiece, with, on each, my brother’s endorsement -in the corner. In exchange, Mr. Bernstein presented me with two -thousand five hundred pounds, and out of that you had two hundred.” - -“I took it as a friendly present.” - -“Precisely--from a perfect stranger. Time went on. The three months -slipped by. I began to fidget. Luck was most consummately against me. -Two thousand five hundred pounds went no way at all; I had lost it, -pretty nearly every penny, before I really realised that I had ever -had it. When it was gone, I knew that breakers were ahead; a pretty -nasty lot of rocks. As I say, I began to fidget. I knew my brother, -and was well aware that, since last time it had been nearly murder, -this time it would come as near as possible to quite. Philip’s temper, -my friends, Philip’s temper was distinctly bad. We had had a few -fights together, he and I, and out of them it had not been my general -custom to come out best. Now I foresaw that the biggest fight of all -our fights was drawing comfortably close; and when I asked myself in -what condition I should probably emerge from it, I was not able to -supply my question with an answer which gave me entire satisfaction. - -“I began to hate my brother. As the days stole by, I began to hate him -more and more--to fear him. The two things together, the hatred and -the fear, took such a hold of me that I began to cast about in my mind -how I could get the best of him, when the game was blown upon and the -fight began. And at last I thought of something which I had chanced -upon in India. - -“It was one night when I lay awake in bed, unable to sleep. I had been -drinking. The drink had been bad. Among the goblins which it brought -to my bedside were thoughts of my brother. I thought of how the luck -had all been his; of what a grip he had; of his bone and muscle; of -how, in our quarrels, it always had gone hard with me; of how, in the -next one, which was close at hand, it would go harder still. He was -more than a match for me all round. In peace or war he was the -stronger man. How could I get even with him? How? - -“Then I thought of the Goddess. It was from herself that the first -inspiration came; she precipitated herself, as the occultists have it, -into my mind. I suspected it then; I know it now. She had remained, -till then, in the packing-case in which I brought her home. She had -never been out of it, not once. I had never taken the trouble to -unpack her. She might have feared she was forgotten; felt herself -slighted. No; that’s not her way. She knows she’ll never be forgotten; -and as for slights, she never will be slighted when there’s need of -her. She had been waiting; that was all--waiting for her time. Now her -time had come. She knew it. So she reminded me that she was there. - -“It struck me, at first, as a humorous idea--The Goddess. It always is -her humorous side which appeals to one at first. Indeed, it is that -side of her which continues to the front; only--the character of the -humour changes. I laughed to think that her existence should occur to -me at such a moment. And, as I laughed, she laughed too. It was the -first time I had heard her laughter. The sound of it had an odd effect -on the marrow in my bones. Even then I asked myself if by any -possibility I could be going mad. She was in the cupboard on the other -side of my dressing-room. All other considerations apart, it was an -odd thing that I should hear her so plainly from where I lay. - -“‘I’ll go and look at her,’ I said. I went. As I opened the cupboard -door she laughed again--a little, soft, musical laugh, suggestive of -exquisite enjoyment. It drew me on. ‘Why,’ I cried, ‘I didn’t know -that you could laugh. Where are you? Let’s free you from your prison. -If you’re as pretty as your laughter, you should be well worth looking -at.’ - -“There was the packing-case, all nailed and corded, exactly as it had -been when placed on shipboard. As I touched it, she laughed again. Now -that I had become more used to it, I found that there was something in -the sound which braced me up; a quality which was suited to my mood. I -drew the case into my dressing-room. I unpacked it. There she was -inside, in the best possible condition; as ready, as willing, as -happy, as on the day when I first saw her, in the place where she was -born. She had borne her voyage and subsequent confinement surprisingly -well; neither in her bearing nor appearance was there anything which -even hinted at a trace of resentment for the treatment which she had -received. As she showed me what she could do, laughing all the time, I -said to myself, ‘With her aid I shall be more than a match for my -brother.’ - -“I had got her out, but, like the genie the fisherman released in the -Arabian story, she was not easy to put back again. Without her consent -it was impossible to replace her in the packing-case. Her consent she -refused to give. When I persisted in my attempts to do without it, she -brought me nearer to a sudden end than I had ever been before. -Whereupon I desisted. I left her where she was. That display of her -powers, and of her readiness to use them, compelled me to the -reflection that in her I had found not only a collaborator, but -possibly something else as well. One thing I certainly had found--an -inseparable companion. - -“From that hour, when, in the silence of the night, and because I -could not sleep, being troubled by thoughts of my brother, I took her -from her packing-case, she has never left me for one moment alone. She -has become part and parcel of my life; grown into the very web of my -being; into the very heart of me; until now she holds me, body, soul, -and spirit, with chains which never shall be broken. And to her it’s -such an exquisite jest. Listen! She is laughing now.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXV. - THE GODDESS - -I had been wondering, while Lawrence had been speaking, where, -exactly, in what he said, was the dividing line between truth and -falsehood; between sanity and madness. I could not satisfy myself upon -the point; either then or afterwards. That the wildness of his speech -and manner was an indication of the disorder of his mind was obvious; -that in his brain there were the fires of delirium was sure; that the -tale which he told was not all raving was as certain. It is probable -that the life of dissipation which he had led had told upon his -physical health; and that, as usual, the body had reacted on the mind. - -Yet there was such an air of conviction in his bearing, and so much -method in his madness, that even in his most amazing statements one -could not but suspect, at least, a basis of fact. And it was because -this was so that we listened, fascinated, to assertions which savoured -of a world of dreams; and hung, with breathless interest, on words -which told, as if they were everyday occurrences, of things of which -it is not good to even think as coming within the sweep of -possibility. - -He held up his finger, repeating his last words in the form of an -inquiry. - -“Hark! don’t you hear her laughing now?” - -I know not what we heard; I know not. We had been following, one by -one, the steps which marked the progress of disorder in this man’s -brain, until our own minds had become unbalanced too. But I thought -that I heard the sound of a woman’s laughter, and it was because it -appeared to come from behind the screen that I stepped forward to move -the barrier, so that we might learn what it concealed. Lawrence sprang -in front of me. - -“Don’t!” he cried. “She’s there! You shall see her; I’ll show you her -at the proper time.” - -I could have thrust him aside, but there was that about him which -dissuaded me. And when the lady, laying her hand upon my arm, drew me -away from him, I let him tell his tale in his own fashion. He passed -his fingers across his brow, as if in an effort to collect his -thoughts. - -“Well, the time went, forgetting to bring me ease of mind, until -Bernstein wrote to ask my brother where it would best meet his -convenience to have the bills presented, which were on the point of -falling due.” - -“It was the usual custom,” struck in the Jew. - -“It’s the usual custom, Bernstein says, and I’m not denying it. When -Philip got the letter, he came red-hot to me, asking what it meant. I -had had a bad day or two, and some unpleasant nights, and was feeling -hipped just when he came. Besides, his coming took me unawares; I was -not expecting him--for the present. When I perceived what was in his -voice, and in his eyes, and in the twitchings of his hands, I was -afraid. I lied to him; pretending that I had no notion of what it was -that Bernstein wrote; protesting that any bills which he might hold -had nothing at all to do with me. I could see he doubted, but having -no proof positive that what I said was false, he went, warning me what -I might expect if it turned out that I had lied. It was good hearing, -to know what I might expect--from him--if it turned out that I had -lied. - -“I went to Bernstein, to implore him to have mercy; though I knew that -in him mercy was less frequent than water in a rock.” - -“I am a man of business! You had had my money! I am a business man!” - -“He would have none. I found young Moore. I told him that certain -bills had been discounted which bore my brother’s name, and since he -had put it there I should be compelled, in self-defence, to tell the -simple truth.” - -“When I put it there there was nothing on the bills--not a word; I -declare it. They were nothing but five blank slips of paper, on my -sacred word of honour, I will swear to it. He filled them up himself; -then he wanted to put it on to me.” - -“Yes, it was odd how I wanted to put it upon every one except myself; -very odd indeed. That night I was not happy. I had some conversation -with The Goddess; from which I derived comfort, of a kind, though it -was not much, either for quantity or quality. The next day I had -brought myself closer to the sticking point; as, I fancy, men are apt -to do when they know that the music really is about to play. In the -evening I had a game of cards with Ferguson. You remember?” - -“I do. You cheated me.” - -“I did. Which, again, was odd. For it was the first time I ever had -cheated at cards, and it was the last. You went out of the room -believing that you would have to pay me £1880, and with, at the -bottom of your heart, the knowledge that the man whom you had supposed -to be your friend was, after all, a rogue. The consciousness that you -had this knowledge was, for me, the top brick. I had chosen to carry -myself well in your eyes, and believed I had succeeded; yet, after -all, I’d failed. When you had gone I turned for consolation to The -Goddess. - -“Bringing her from my bedroom, I placed her on her own particular -stand. I was just about to request her to go through one of her -unrivalled performances when, turning, I saw in the open doorway of my -room a lady. Here is that lady now.” - -He waved his hand towards Miss Moore. She gave what seemed to be a -start of recollection. - -“I remember. I had knocked at the door again and then again; no one -answered. I tried the handle; the door opened; you were there.” - -“Which was most fortunate for me. It was an entrancing figure which I -saw, in a cloak all glory; with a face--a face which would haunt the -dreams of a happier man than I. It was a late hour for so enchanting a -vision to pay a first call upon a single gentleman, but, when I -learned that this was the sister of the ingenuous Tom, I understood; I -understood still more when the lady’s tongue was once set wagging, for -sometimes even charming visions do have tongues. Dear Tom had told his -tale on his own lines.” - -“It was gospel truth, every word I said to her. I’ll take my oath it -was.” - -“There’s not a doubt you will. But as the tale came from the lady’s -lips to me, it seemed surprising. I’d no idea, until she told me, that -I was so old in sin and dear Tom so young. It seemed that I had -corrupted the boy’s fresh innocence; that I had even taught him how to -write--especially other people’s names. To me it sounded odd. I had -met young Tom; I was beginning to wonder if his sister ever had. I -knew something of his history; one could scarcely credit that she knew -anything at all. However, one was glad to learn that so fair a lady -had so excellent a brother, though it seemed unfortunate that he -should have such curious associates. Of one of them she was giving her -opinion, to the extent of several volumes, when once more the door was -opened, this time, I really think, without any preliminary knocking; -for I am incapable of suggesting that the lady’s voice could by any -possibility have drowned even a rapping of the knuckles. My brother -was the interrupter--the uninvited, unwelcome interrupter, of our -_tête-à-tête_. - -“Then I knew that the end had come; that the game was blown upon; that -the music would have to be faced. I knew this in an instant. It was -written large all over him. He had a trick, when he was in a rage, of -seeming to swell; as if the wind of his passion had distended him. I -had never seen him look so large before. He was trembling--not with -fear. His fingers were opening and closing--as they were apt to do -when the muscles which controlled them reached the point of working by -themselves. His lips were parted; he drew great breaths; his eyes had -moved forward in his head. It did not need more than a single glance -at him to enable me to understand that he had learned that I had lied, -and that now had come the tug of war. - -“I cannot say if he noticed that I was with a lady. He did not -acknowledge her presence if he did, not even by so much as the removal -of his hat. So soon as he saw me he began to edge his way into the -room, with little, awkward, jerky movements, which experience had -taught me were the invariable preliminaries to an outburst of -insensate fury. ‘I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!’ He -repeated the three words, as if he were speaking half to himself and -half to me, in a husky voice, which was not nice to hear. - -“My first thought was of The Goddess!” - -As if he had had, from the beginning, an eye to what would be the -proper dramatic effect, when he got so far, Lawrence, with a hasty -movement towards the daïs, struck the crimson screen, so that it came -clattering forward on to the floor. Extending his arms on either side -of him, he cried: “Behold! The Goddess!” - -I do not know what the others were prepared to find revealed, nor even -what it was which I had myself expected. There had been in my mind a -vague anticipation of some incredible horror; something neither human -nor inhuman, neither alive nor dead. What I actually did see -occasioned me, at first sight, a shock of surprise. A moment’s -reflection, however, disclosed my own stupidity. Much that had gone -before should have prepared me for exactly this. Only my mental -opaqueness could have prevented my seeing to what Lawrence’s words -directly pointed. And yet, after all, this that I saw did not provide -an adequate explanation; did not, for instance, shed light on what I -had seen in my dream. - -The downfall of the screen had revealed an idol; apparently a Hindoo -goddess. She was squatted on what looked like an ebony pedestal, -perhaps a foot or eighteen inches from the floor. The figure was -nearly four feet high. It represented a woman squatting on her -haunches. Her arms were crossed upon her breast, her fingers -interlaced. Two things struck me as peculiar. One, that the whole -figure was of a brilliant scarlet; the other, that its maker had -managed to impart to it a curious suggestion of life. To this fact -Lawrence himself drew our attention. - -“You see how alive she is? She only needs a touch to fill her with -impassioned frenzy. It is for that touch that she waits and watches.” - -It was exactly what I had myself observed. The figure needed only some -little thing to give it at least the semblance of actual life. I could -not make out of what substance it was compounded; certainly neither of -wood nor stone. - -“As Philip came at me across the room I moved towards The Goddess. -‘Take care,’ I said. ‘Don’t be a fool! Don’t you see that there’s a -lady here?’ He did not; or if he did he showed no signs of doing so. I -doubt even if he saw The Goddess. It was his way. In his fits of -passion he was like some maddened bull; he had eyes only for the -object of his rage. ‘I’ll kill you!’ he kept on muttering, in a voice -which fury had made husky. ‘Don’t be an ass!’ I cried. But he was an -ass. Presently there came the rush which I was looking for. He went -for me as the bull goes for the toreador. And instead of me he met The -Goddess. It had to be, or I should not have lived to tell the tale. - -“As it chanced The Goddess was between us. I had in my fingers this -little cord--you see I have it here. My scarlet beauty was an obstacle -of which he took no account at all. He made as if he would dash her -into splinters and scatter them about the room. But The Goddess is not -so easily to be brushed aside. As he rushed at her she leaped at -him--like this.” - -Suddenly throwing out his arms he cried, in a loud voice, “Take me, -for I am yours, O thou Goddess of the Scarlet Hands.” - -How exactly it all happened, even now I find it hard to say. As -Lawrence sprang forward, the figure rose to its feet, and in an -instant was alive. It opened its arms; from its finger-tips came -knives. Stepping forward it gripped Lawrence with its steel-clad -hands, with a grip from which there was no escaping. From every part -of its frame gleaming blades had sprung; against this -_cheval-de-frise_ it pressed him again and again, twirling him round -and round, moving him up and down, so that the weapons pierced and -hacked back and front. Even from its eyes, mouth, and nostrils had -sprung knives. It kept jerking its head backwards and forwards, so -that it could stab with them at his face and head. And, all the while, -from somewhere came the sound of a woman’s laughter--that dreadful -sound which I had heard in my dream. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI. - THE LEGACY OF THE SCARLET HANDS - -We could do nothing for him. The shock of the surprise, for a -moment, held us motionless. But so soon as we realised that the man -was being hacked to death before our eyes, we rushed to his -assistance. It was of no avail. Death had, probably, been -instantaneous, so much mercy the creature showed. A sharp-pointed -blade, more than eighteen inches long, which proceeded from its -stomach, had pierced him through and through. The writhing, gibbering -puppet held him skewered in a dozen places. To have released him we -should have had to tear him into pieces. When I tried to drag him -free, I only succeeded in bringing the whole thing over. Down he came, -with his assailant sticking to him like a limpet. Pinning him on to -the floor, it continued its extraordinary contortions, lacerating its -victim with every movement in a hundred different places. It was -difficult to believe that it was not alive. Perceiving that it was not -to be persuaded by any other means to loosen its embrace, I struck it -on the back, again and again, with a heavy wooden chair. - -Presently it was still; its movements ceased; it became again -inanimate. As if its lust for blood was glutted, it rolled over, -lethargically, upon its side, leaving its handiwork exposed--a -horrible spectacle. A grin--as it were a smile, born of repletion--was -on the creature’s face. - -Later, the thing was torn to pieces; its anatomy laid bare. -Examination showed that its construction had been diabolically -ingenious. It was simply a light steel frame, shaped to resemble a -human body, to which was attached a number of strong springs, which -were set in motion by clockwork machinery. The whole had been encased -in scarlet leather, so that, when completed, it resembled nothing so -much as an artist’s lay figure. In the leather were innumerable -eyelet-holes. Through each of these holes the point of a blade was -always peeping. So soon as the clockwork was set in motion each of -these blades leaped from its appointed place, and continued leaping, -ceaselessly, to and fro, till the machinery ran down. In the head was -an arrangement somewhat on the lines of a phonograph; it was from this -proceeded the sound resembling a woman’s gentle laughter, which was -not the least eerie part of its horrible performance. - -Inquiries seemed to show that the creature had originally been -intended for sacrificial purposes. Lawrence had apparently purchased -it at Allahabad; probably from the workshop of a native who was -suspected of the manufacture of contrivances, whose ingenuity was -almost too conspicuous, which were used in the temples. On certain -days such a puppet would be produced by the priests, with a flourish -of trumpets. One could easily believe that miraculous power would be -claimed for it; it was even likely that, as a proof of the -substantiality of these claims, it would go through its gruesome -performance in the presence of the assembled congregations. Of what -might have been the objects on which it exhibited its powers one did -not care to think. Some queer things still take place in India. - -Edwin Lawrence could hardly have been perfectly sane when he purchased -such a plaything. It was not a possession which a perfectly -healthy-minded man would have cared to have had at any price; and -Lawrence must have paid an enormous sum for it, or that wily native -would never have allowed such a curio to leave his hands. It was shown -that the brothers had been in the habit of quarrelling their whole -lives long. Edwin would do something to arouse Philip’s passion, -whereon Philip would attack him with unreasoning violence. The fit of -fury past, and the mischief done, repentance came. In these moods -Philip must have expended thousands of pounds in his attempts to -soothe the feelings of the brother whom he had just been battering. -One of these scenes had taken place just before Edwin’s departure for -India; it was the usual plaster which had enabled him to start upon -his travels. That his brother’s treatment of him rankled, there was -scarcely room for doubt; the purchase of the scarlet puppet was, -probably a firstfruit of his morbid brooding. - -At the very last, possibly, the crime had been the result of a -moment’s impulse--as he himself had said. But that it had been -prepared for, as likely to happen some time, was clear. He had -obtained a suit of clothes, which was exactly like those which his -brother was in the habit of wearing. These he secreted in his bedroom. -So soon as his “goddess” had done her work, he stripped what was left -of his brother bare--an awful task it must have been. He arrayed the -body in a suit of his own clothes, oblivious of the fact that they -showed no signs of the cutting and the hacking, and the suit which he -had prepared he himself put on. - -Whether or not he saw me--or even if I was actually there to see--is -not clear to this day. But either he did not notice the departure of -his lady visitor, or he was indifferent to what it might portend; -under the circumstances, after the tragedy had actually taken place, -his movements were marked by curious deliberation. The probability is -that the catastrophe finally overturned the brain whose equilibrium -was already tottering. No other hypothesis can adequately explain the -manner in which he retained his self-possession, expecting every -moment that the alarm would be raised, and that he would be caught -red-handed. - -Not only did he make himself up to resemble as much as possible his -brother, but, rolling the “goddess” up in a cloth, he bore the -blood-stained puppet out with him into the street. It was that which -Turner had seen him carrying, under the impression that he was himself -the man who was, at that moment, lying on the floor of his room, a -mutilated corpse. As, by sight, Turner knew both men well, the fact -that he mistook one man for the other shows that the imitation must -have been well and carefully done. - -No action was taken against Mr. Isaac Bernstein. Except the dead man’s -words, there was no evidence against him in that particular. But that -the tale told of him by Edwin Lawrence was true, and that he had some -sort of a conscience, after all, was suggested by the fact that a few -days afterwards he disappeared from his London premises and from his -usual haunts. So far as I know, nothing has been seen or heard of him -since. Whether he was afraid that other shady transactions, in which -he had had a hand, would be brought home to him, or whether he was -haunted by memories of the dual tragedy for which he had been, at any -rate in part, responsible, I cannot say. The fact remains, that so far -as the police can learn, large sums of money, which at the time of his -disappearance were due to him, he has never made the slightest attempt -to claim. - -As the two brothers were the last of their race, and no one has laid -claim to Philip’s estate, in due course it reverted to the Crown. It -is among the large number of those for which heirs-at-law are still -wanting. Old Morley and his wife had not been in a good service for so -many years for nothing; they would have retired from it long before -had it not been for antiquated notions of fidelity. Their master’s -death found them comfortably off, and in the possession, as it turned -out, of a little property among the Surrey hills. On that property -they are residing to this day. When it first came into their hands the -neighbourhood was wild and rural; others, since, have discovered that -it was beautiful. Building is taking place on every side; quite a town -is springing up. Though this materially adds to the monetary value of -their property, the old couple are a little restless amidst their new -surroundings. - -Hume is still unmarried. He becomes less and less engaged in the -active practice of his profession. But he remains an authority on the -obscure diseases of the brain. He has written more than one book upon -this special subject. I have not read them--I am no reader, and such -works would, in any case, be hardly in my way--but I understand that -he seeks to show that we are, all of us, more or less mad, and that he -goes far towards the proof of this thesis. He has not materially -altered his estimate of my mental equipment. Indeed, he once assured -me that he was becoming more and more convinced that men whose -physical and muscular development went beyond a certain limit were, -_ipso facto_, mad; and, _ergo_, I must be insane. However, we are -tolerable friends, and he seems not unwilling to allow that I am as -well out of an asylum as in. - -It has been rumoured that Miss Adair intends, shortly, to retire from -the stage; and the whisper is that Hume, who for some time has been -her constant attendant, has something to do with her intention. In -that case, they will make a well-matched pair, for in my opinion they -both have tongues. - -Bessie--I think that at this point in these pages I am entitled to -call her Bessie--Bessie never acted again. After that hideous night -brain fever supervened. For weeks she lay between life and death. More -than once the doctors gave her up. Fortunately, doctors are not -omniscient. After all, God was merciful--to me. - -Almost her first words, when the darkest hour had given place to the -first glimmerings of dawn, took the shape of a question: “Where is -Tom?” Her scamp of a brother! After all she had suffered for him, he -was foremost in her thoughts. - -“I hope that he is on the road to fortune.” - -Looking up at me with her big eyes, which had grown bigger, and sunk -farther in her head, she asked me what I meant. I explained. I had -supplied Young Hopeful with the wherewithal which would enable him to -seek for gold in what was then the new El Dorado--the Klondyke region. -He had started on his quest. But he never found what, at least -nominally, he had gone to look for. Some months afterwards I learnt -that he had died; fallen at night into the waters of the Yukon river -and been drowned. My correspondent went on to explain that he was dead -drunk at the time; which explanation I kept from his sister. I did not -wish her to think that his end had been unbecoming to a man. - -Bessie and I have been married just long enough to enable me to begin -to realise my happiness. I am ever slow, so I will not say what is the -tale of the years which that statement implies; though the sight of -our youngsters is apt to give away the secret of their father’s -dulness. There was no question between us of courtship. I knew, as I -watched by her bedside, that if she came back to life she was mine; -and that in any case I was hers. And so it was. So soon as she was -strong enough we were married. And we have been lovers ever since. As -I sit, with her hand clasped tightly, watching her children and mine, -I am sometimes disposed to suspect that our courtship is beginning. I -know it will never cease. - -The goodness of God has been very great in giving me my wife. By what -seemed accident, but was indeed the act of Providence, I have come to -have for my very own the woman of my dreams. Sleeping and waking she -is mine. So true is it that some men’s good fortune is out of all -proportion to their deserts. - - THE END - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - -Alterations to the text: - -[Chapter XIX] Change “to serve by going to _goal_” to _gaol_, and -delete an unnecessary quotation mark from the last paragraph of this -chapter. - -[Chapter XXI] Change “the world was talking of John _Furguson_” to -_Ferguson_. - -Minor spelling and hyphenization inconsistencies have been left as is. - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GODDESS: A DEMON *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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