The voice which greeted me was that of a woman surprised by my sudden
entrance; and walking swiftly forward to investigate, I passed into my
own dingy sitting-room.
"I have a visitor, it seems," I exclaimed, stopping short. "May I not
know your name?"
There was no response. Instinctively I knew that the woman I had thus
disturbed was still present in that room wherein I spent so many lonely
hours. Her startled cry was sufficient to convince me that she was
there for some secret purpose. What, I wondered, could it be?
"Speak," I urged. "Kindly explain your business with me, and the reason
of your presence here."
Yet she uttered no word of response, and apparently did not move.
I advanced, crossing towards the window, where I believed she must be
standing, but with a quick movement my mysterious visitor eluded me,
passing me by so near that her warm breath fanned my cheek, and next
instant she had escaped and slammed the outer door of my chambers.
I stood wondering. Her presence there was most extraordinary. The
faithful Parker, too, was absent, a circumstance which aroused
misgivings within me. Could this strange female visitor have entered
the place with a false key; or was she a mere pilferer whom I had
disturbed in her search for plunder? Numbers of female thieves haunt
the London streets, and it seemed more than likely that she was one who
had ascended the stairs on pretence of selling something or other.
At any rate, I had returned at an unexpected moment, or she would not
have given vent to that involuntary cry of dismay. I groped about the
familiar room in order to ascertain whether it were disordered, but
could find nothing whatsoever out of place. I called Parker loudly by
name, but all was silence save the quick ticking of the timepiece upon
the mantelshelf.
The clock of St Clement Danes chimed merrily, then slowly struck the
hour. I counted, and found that it was eleven o'clock in the morning.
How much had happened during the past fifteen hours! I had twice nearly
lost my life.
Having cast aside my hat, I sank into my armchair, muddy and dirty, just
as I was. My head, where it had been struck in the accident, pained me
considerably, and I felt that I had a touch of fever coming on. Yet all
my thoughts were concentrated upon the future and what the curious
alliance with my strange protectress might bring upon me. Surely no man
had ever found himself in a more remarkable situation than I was at that
moment; certainly no man could be more mystified and puzzled. Deeply I
pondered again and again, but could make nothing of that tangled web of
startling facts.
By no desire or inclination of my own I had fallen among what appeared
to be very undesirable company, and had involuntarily promised to become
the assistant of some person whom I could not see. The strange
oppression that fell upon me seemed precursory of evil.
My wet clothes sticking to me chilled me to the bone, and, with a sudden
resolve to shake off the gloomy apprehensions that seemed to have
gripped my heart, I rose and passed into my own room to wash and get a
change of clothing.
The prolonged absence of Parker caused me much wonder. She never went
out unless to go into the Strand to purchase the diurnal steak or
tri-weekly chop which constituted my chief sustenance; or, perhaps, on
Sunday afternoon she would, on rare occasions, go "to take a cup o' tea"
with her daughter, who was a music-hall artiste, and lived somewhere off
the Kensington Road.
Having cleaned myself, I proceeded to dress the wound on my head, my own
medical knowledge standing me in good stead, and when I had
satisfactorily bandaged it and put on a dry suit of clothes, I groped
about through the several small rooms which were my home. Nothing
seemed disarranged, nothing missing--only the woman who had ever been so
faithful to me and had treated me as tenderly in my helplessness as
though I had been her own son.
In impatience I took a cigar, lit it, and sat down to wait. No doubt,
when she returned I should find that she had been absent upon some
errand connected with her not-over-extensive _cuisine_. The thought
grew upon me that my promise to the mysterious Edna, whoever she might
be, was a rashly foolish one, and must result in some very serious
_contretemps_ for me. I had willingly given up my liberty of action and
become the instrument of a person who had, without doubt, imposed upon
me. It seemed most probable, now that I reflected, that she was acting
in concert with the man who had so cleverly practised deception upon me
and led me to believe that he was a police-constable. That man, it now
seemed plain, had followed me from the house of mystery, allowed me to
wander sufficiently far to lose my bearings, and then got on in front of
me so that I might approach and accost him. The whole affair had been
carried out with amazing ingenuity, and every precaution had apparently
been taken to conceal the remarkable tragedy. Yet the chief feature of
the affair which puzzled me was the motive in endeavouring to take my
life in that cellar beside the Thames. I had surely harmed no one, and,
being utterly ignorant of the house wherein the affair had taken place,
and also knowing me to be blind, they certainly could not fear any
revelations that I might make. It was an enigma which I strove in vain
to solve.
My gloomy thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a latch-key
in the outer door, and as I rose old Mrs Parker entered with an
expression of profound surprise.
"Why, sir?" she cried. "I understood that you'd gone away into the
country!"
"Into the country?" I echoed. "Who told you so?"
"The lady you sent to tell me."
"Lady? What lady?" I inquired, amazed. "Surely, Parker, you've taken
leave of your senses?"
"The lady came about an hour ago, sir, and said that you had sent her to
tell me that you would be absent for perhaps a week or so--that you had
gone down to your uncle's in Hampshire."
"I've sent no one," I responded, astounded at this fresh phase of the
affair. "What kind of lady was she--old or young?"
"Middle-aged."
"Well-dressed?"
"Yes, sir. She spoke with a funny kind of lisp, which made me think she
might be a foreigner. She said she knew you quite well, being a friend
of your aunt's, and that you were travelling down to Hampshire this
morning, your uncle having been taken ill. I remarked that it was
strange that you shouldn't come home for your bag and things, but she
gave me a message from you to send a bag packed with your clothes by
train from Waterloo to Christchurch Station marked `To be called for.'"
"But didn't you think her story a very lame one, Parker?" I asked,
angry that my old serving-woman should have thus been misled and
deceived.
"Of course I did, sir, especially as you were absent all night. I told
her that, and she said that you had called upon her, and finding your
aunt, Lady Durrant, there on a visit, remained to supper. While at
supper a telegram had arrived summoning your aunt home, as your uncle
had been taken dangerously ill, and at once you had resolved to
accompany her. But you've hurt your head, sir, haven't you?" she added,
noticing my bandages.
"Yes," I answered. "I fell down. It is nothing--my own carelessness."
The story was, to say the least, a most ingenious one. Whoever the
mysterious woman was she apparently knew that my uncle, Sir Charles
Durrant, lived in the neighbourhood of Christchurch; that he was at that
moment in a very critical state of health, suffering from paralysis, and
further, that I had considerable expectations from him, and would not
hesitate to travel down to see him if I knew him to be worse. One
thing, therefore, was quite plain, namely, that my family affairs were
perfectly well known to these persons whose movements were so
mystifying.
"It was foolish of you, Parker, very foolish indeed, to have given
credence to such an absurd tale as that," I said, annoyed. "You are
usually a shrewd woman, but you have displayed no discretion in this
affair--none whatever."
"I'm very sorry, sir," the woman answered. "But I knew that if Sir
Charles were worse you'd go down to the Manor at once. Did you really
send nobody, sir?"
"No; nobody at all. There's some underhand business in all this,
Parker, so keep your wits about you."
"And haven't you seen her ladyship at all, sir?" she inquired, in her
turn astonished.
"No, and, moreover, I know nothing of this mysterious woman who came to
you with this cock-and-bull story. Did she say where she lived, or give
any card?"
"No, she didn't, sir."
"I suppose you'd know her again if you saw her?"
"Well," she answered with considerable hesitancy, "I don't know as I
should, sir. You see, she wore one of them white lace veils which makes
it difficult to distinguish the features."
"But what object could any one have in coming to you and telling a
falsehood in that manner?" I cried, my anger increased by the knowledge
of Parker's inability to again recognise the bearer of the false
message.
"I don't know, I'm sure, sir," was the woman's reply, in a voice which
showed how deeply she regretted the occurrence.
"How long was she here?" I inquired.
"About five minutes. She asked me to let her see your sitting-room and
the reading-books with the embossed letters, as she was much interested
in you, and had heard so much of you from Lady Durrant."
"And you showed them to her?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then you had no right to do so without my permission, Parker," I said
angrily. "You are an old and trusted servant, and should have known
better."
"I'm very sorry, sir. The truth was that she seemed such a well-spoken
lady, and her manner was so perfect that I thought you would not like to
offend her."
"Recollect that if any other persons call they are not to enter my rooms
on any pretext," I said decisively.
"Very well, sir. I acknowledge that I was entirely in the wrong in
allowing her to pry about the place."
"And when she had gone?"
"Then I went over to the butcher's in the Strand to get a bit of steak."
"And saw nothing more of her?"
"Yes, sir. I did see her again. As I was coming back I met her in the
Strand, at the corner of Arundel Street, walking with a gentleman who
looked like a City man. She said something to him, and he turned and
had a good look at me."
"Then it must have been this same woman who was in my chambers here when
I returned," I said.
"A woman here?" she ejaculated.
"Yes; when I entered there was a woman here, and she escaped as though
she were a thief. She must have gone out and rejoined the man, who was
awaiting her somewhere in the vicinity. That would bear out the fact
that you encountered her again."
"But how could she get in? I'm always careful to see that the door is
properly closed."
"Probably she stole the extra latch-key while prying about the place.
See whether it is still on the nail." She crossed the room, and next
moment gasped--"It's gone, sir!"
"Ah!" I said. "Just as I thought! The story she told you was a mere
excuse to obtain admittance to the place, and, if possible, to get
possession of the key. This she obtained, and, having watched you out,
returned and continued her search for something she desired to secure.
We must at once examine the whole place, and seek to discover what's
been stolen."
"Do you think she was a common thief, sir?" inquired Parker, dumbfounded
by the ingenuity with which the latch-key had been secured.
"I don't know what to believe at present," I answered. "We must
investigate first, and form our conclusions afterwards. Now, make a
thorough search and see what has been disturbed and what is missing."
I had no intention of entering into a long explanation with Parker
regarding the events of that fateful night, or to disturb her peace of
mind by relating any of the tragic circumstances. Therefore, I went to
my room and locked away my muddy, blood-stained clothing, and afterwards
returned, and with my hands felt the various objects in my sitting-room,
to assure myself that none was displaced or missing.