The weight of the inert body oppressed me, and in striving to extricate
myself it slipped from the couch and slid to the ground; but such a
feeling of dread overcame me that I reached down and pushed the warm
body under the couch.
The faint sound of some one moving stealthily across the thick pile
carpet caused me to lie rigid, holding my breath. I heard the movement
distinctly, and curiously enough it sounded as though it were a woman,
for there was just a faint rustling as though her skirts trailed upon
the ground. My quick ear told me that the person was approaching. By
the panting breath I knew that it was the assassin. Was I, too, to fall
a victim?
I tried to call out, but in that moment of agony and horror my tongue
refused to articulate. It seemed to cleave to the roof of my mouth.
The sound of movement ceased, and I knew that the person was quite close
to me. My eyes were wide open, held fixed in expectant horror.
I felt a warm breath upon my cheeks, and knew that the unknown assassin
was peering into my eyes. In a few moments I had an instinctive feeling
of something being held a few inches from my face.
Then the words that had been spoken by my protectress recurred to me.
She had declared to her companions that I was blind, and urged them to
test me by holding something to my head.
This was now being done. The truth of my statement was being proved,
possibly by a revolver being held to my brow. If so, my only chance of
safety rested in unflinching coolness. My position was certainly a most
unenviable one.
For a few moments the panting heart of the assassin thumped close to me;
then, apparently satisfied, the unknown person moved off in silence
without uttering a single word.
My first impulse was to jump up and arrest the progress of the assassin,
but on reflection I saw that to do so would only be to invite death.
What could I do, blind as I was?
Only could I sit and listen, trying to distinguish every detail of the
mystery.
Yes, I became convinced more than ever that the person leaving the room
was not a man--but a woman.
Could it be the same individual whose cool, sympathetic hand had only a
quarter of an hour before soothed my brow? The thought held me
dumbfounded.
I had all along believed that the assassin had been a man, but it was
certain by that swish of silken flounces that it was a woman.
As I listened I heard the click of an electric-light switch at the door
of the room, and a couple of minutes later a heavy door closed. From
the bang of the knocker I knew that the street door had been shut by
some person who had left the house.
I still sat listening. All was silent. Only the low ticking of the
clock broke the dead stillness of the night. The mysterious woman who
had thus made her exit had evidently switched off the light, leaving me
in total darkness with the hideous evidences of her crime.
For some short time longer I listened, my ears open to catch every
sound, but, hearing nothing, I now knew that I was alone. Therefore,
rising to my feet, I groped about until my hands touched the prostrate
body of the man, and as I did so he heaved a long sigh, and a quick
shudder ran through his frame. The wound had evidently not caused
instant death, but, placing my hand quickly over the heart, I found that
it had now ceased its beating with the final spasm.
Slowly, and with utmost care, I passed both my hands over the dead man's
face, in order to obtain some mental picture of his appearance. His
hair seemed thick and well parted at the side, his features those of a
young man shaven save for the moustache, which was long and well
trained. He was in evening clothes, and wore in his shirt a single
stud, which, to my touch, seemed of very peculiar shape. I tried to
make out its design, but in vain, when suddenly I remembered that if I
took it, it might afterwards give me some clue to its dead owner's
identity. So I took it from the stiff shirt-front and placed it in the
pocket of my vest.
His watch-chain was an ordinary curb, I found, with a watch which had
the greasy feel of silver. In his pockets were a couple of sovereigns
and some loose silver, but no letters nor card-case, nothing indeed to
lead me to a knowledge of who he really was. In one pocket I found a
small pencil-case, and this I also took for my own purposes.
Half a dozen times I placed my hand upon his heart, whence the blood was
slowly oozing, but there was no movement.
My investigations showed that he was about twenty-eight years of age;
probably fair, by the softness of the hair and moustache, with even
teeth, rather sharp jawbones and cheeks a trifle thin. Having
ascertained this much, I groped forward with both hands in the direction
of the room wherein the woman had been so swiftly done to death. It was
in darkness, I have no doubt, but to me darkness was of no account, for
I was ever in eternal gloom. The furniture over which I stumbled here
and there was covered with silk brocade, the woodwork being of that
smoothness which had led me to believe that it must be gilded. It was
without doubt a fine spacious drawing-room where I had been lying, for
the dimensions of the place were quite unusual, and the objects with
which my hands came into contact were always of a character magnificent,
and in keeping with the grandeur of the place. The house was evidently
one of those fine mansions with which the West End of London abounds,
and certainly this apartment, even though I could not see it, was the
acme of comfort and luxury.
I at last found the entrance to the adjoining room, but the door was
locked.
This sudden check to my investigations caused me to pause. That a woman
had been first struck down by a cowardly blow appeared evident. The
loud agonised shriek which had emanated from that inner room was, I felt
convinced, that of the tender, sweet-voiced woman who had administered
to my wants. It seemed, now that I recollected, as though she had been
seated at the piano when the fatal blow was dealt. The scream and the
cessation of the music had occurred simultaneously.
The theory impressed itself upon me that a woman was responsible for
both crimes. It was a woman who had stood panting near me, who had
noiselessly tested me to ascertain whether I could distinguish objects
about me, and who had afterwards left the house. My blindness had, no
doubt, saved my life.
Before leaving she had, for some unknown reason, locked the
communicating door and taken the key. But upon the air, after she had
gone, there lingered the subtle fragrance of _peau d'Espagne_, the same
perfume used by the woman whose cool palm had soothed my brow.
Nevertheless, it seemed impossible that a woman could thus commit a
double crime so swiftly and with such force as to drive a knife to the
heart of a man and fling him back upon me--all in silence, without the
utterance of one single word.
With my eyes only a void of blackness, this mystery was bewildering, and
rendered the more tantalising by my inability to gaze about me. I had
been present at the enactment of a terrible drama, but had not witnessed
it, and could not, therefore, recognise either culprit or victims.
Again I searched the great handsome room, in order to rivet all its
details upon my memory. It had three long windows opening down to the
floor, which showed that it was situated in the back of the house,
otherwise they must have opened upon the street. In one corner was a
pedestal, whereon stood a marble bust of a dancing-woman, like those I
had seen in the sculptor's at Pisa before the days of my darkness.
There were tables, too, with glass tops wherein, I supposed, were curios
and bric-a-brac, and before the great fireplace was stretched a
tiger-skin, with the paws preserved.
While groping there, however, my hand came into contact with something
which I found was a narrow, three-edged knife, so sharp that I cut my
finger while feeling it. It had a cross-hilt, and the blade was thin
and triangular, tapering to a point. The shape I knew to be Italian,
one of those Florentine stilettos used long ago in the Middle Ages, a
wound from which was almost certain to be fatal. The Italians have long
ago brought the use of the knife to a fine art, and even to-day, murders
by stabbing are the most usual occurrences reported in their newspapers.
The blade of this antique weapon was about nine inches long, and the
handle velvet-covered and bound with wire, probably either gold or
silver. The point was sharp as a needle.
My first impulse was to take possession of it; but, on reflection, I saw
that if I did so grave suspicion might possibly fall upon me. I might
even be charged with the murder, especially as I had already in my
pocket the dead's man stud and pencil-case. This thought caused me to
throw down the stiletto, and, continuing my search, I at length found
the door which gave egress to the place.
I opened it and stood in the hall to listen. There was no sound. The
stillness of the night remained quite unbroken, and I believed myself
alone with the dead. By coughing, the echo of my voice showed that the
hall and staircase were wide and spacious. Then it struck me that I had
no stick, without which I feared to walk; but, groping about, I found an
umbrella stand, and took therefrom a stout thorn, the handle of which
seemed smooth-worn by long usage.
What was my best course? Should I go forth secretly, return home and
await the discovery of the terrible affair, which would no doubt be
fully reported in those evening newspapers which revel in crime? Or
should I go out and inform the first constable I met? The latter, I
saw, was my duty, and even though I had no desire to mix myself up in
such a mysterious and sensational affair, I resolved to go at once and
state all that I heard.
Whether the street door was situated to right or left I knew not, but
trying the right first, I found that the door was at the end of the
hall. Opening it, I passed out, and having closed it again noiselessly
went down the five wide steps into the deserted street.
There were iron railings in front of the house, and before the door was
a big stone portico. My hands told me both these details.
I turned to the left, and after walking some little distance crossed a
road and kept on down a long road which, although it did not appear to
be a main thoroughfare, seemed to run straight as an arrow. For fully a
quarter of an hour I walked on without meeting a soul. The only noise
that broke the quiet was the dismal howl of a dog, and now and then the
distant shriek and low roar of trains. Suddenly I found myself in quite
a labyrinth of crooked streets, and after several turns emerged into
what I presumed to be one of the great arteries of London.
I stood listening. The air was fresh, and it seemed to me that dawn was
spreading. Afar I could hear the measured, heavy tread of a
police-constable, and hurried in his direction. As I did so I put out
my stick and it struck some iron railings. A few minutes later, in hot
haste, I overtook the man of heavy tread, and addressing him, said--
"Tell me, please, are you a constable?"
"Well, I believe I am," answered a rough voice, pleasantly withal. "But
can't you see?"
"No, unfortunately I can't," I replied. "Where am I?"
"Outside the South Kensington Museum. Where do you want to go?"
"I want you to come with me," I said.
"With you. What's up?"
"I've been present at a terrible tragedy," I blurted forth. "Two people
have been murdered."
"Two people?" exclaimed the voice, quickly interested. "Where?"
"In--in a house," I faltered, for not until that instant did the
appalling truth occur to me. I had wandered away from the place, and
had no idea of its outward appearance, or in what road it was situated!
"Well, double murders don't often take place in the street, sonny.
But--" and the voice hesitated.
"Why, there's blood on your clothes, I see! Tell me all about it.
Where's the house?"
"I confess that I've been foolishly stupid, for I've left it, and I
could never find my way back again. I'm blind, you see, and I've no
idea of its exterior appearance."
"At any rate you've been near enough to the affair to get yourself in a
pretty mess," the rough voice said, somewhat suspiciously. "Surely you
have some idea of where the affair took place?"
The situation was certainly the most curious in which any man could be
placed, for with only one thought in my mind, namely, to raise the
alarm, I had gone forth from the house of mystery and failed to mark it.
This negligence of mine might, I reflected, result in the affair being
hushed up for ever. London is a big place in which to search for the
scene of a murder upon which my eyes had never gazed, and the details of
which I only knew by my sense of touch. How many thousands of houses
there were in the West End each with its smoke-blackened portico and
little piece of area railing.
"No," I responded to the officer's inquiry. "I was so bent upon giving
information that I forgot to place any mark upon the house by which to
know it again."
"Well, I've 'eard a good many funny stories while I've been on
night-duty in these eighteen years, but your yarn is about the rummest
of the lot," he said bluntly.
"I only know that the house is a large one, very well furnished, and has
a portico and railings in front--a double house, with hall in the
centre, and rooms on either side."
"That don't 'elp us very much, sonny," the voice observed. "What's the
good o' running after me with a yarn like this if you can't take me to
the spot? To judge from the state of your clothes, though, you've been
in some scrap or another. If your coat was not covered with blood as it
is, I'd be inclined to put you down as a chap with a screw loose."
"I'm not demented, I tell you," I cried warmly. "There's a terrible
crime been committed, and I have sought your assistance."
"And I'd go and have a look at the premises with you, if you could only
tell me where they are. But as you can't--well, what are we to do,
sonny?"