“We shall be able to talk about all that later. In the meanwhile, may
I ask you to inform me if you have a regard for this young lady?
You’ll find it worth your while to say just ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ I know you
are supposed to be engaged to Miss Drawbridge, but that doesn’t
matter. Will you please answer my question?”
“I don’t know what use you intend to make of the information, but I
have no objection, since you appear to know already, to telling you
that Miss Stainer is dearer to me than anything else in the world.”
“I knew it, but I preferred to get the fact from you. Without
thrusting myself too much upon your confidence, may I ask, Miss
Stainer--I should prefer to call you Margery, but as it seems your
name is Stainer----”
“Please call me Margery,” she murmured--just murmured; I could see the
words better than I could hear them.
“May I ask, Margery, if you have in the least degree any feeling of
the same kind for Mr. Armitage?”
She did not answer--she looked at me. I don’t know what she saw on my
face, but she seemed to see something which induced her to draw close
and take my right hand in both of hers, and--that was all; but I
understood; as I immediately made clear.
“That being the case, it is evidently desirable that you should be
married at the earliest possible moment”--you should have seen their
faces--“and a friend has placed funds at my disposal which will enable
you to do so. Please don’t speak, not yet. Mr. Armitage, you’ve been
doing something disgraceful; I’m ashamed of you. How much do you owe
that man Clarke?”
That bewildered look on his face was increasing; he seemed all eyes.
“How do you know I owe him anything? Has he been telling you?”
“He has not; and I’m the only one who is to ask questions. You can ask
all you like later on, but at present please content yourself with
answering mine. How much money do you owe that objectionable Clarke
person?”
“It was eight hundred, but now he makes it out to be a thousand.”
I did not ask what hold the man had over him, not out loud; but I dare
say the question was formulated in my brain. I cannot explain how it
was, but I seemed to see the answer in his eyes, or somewhere: “He’s
got a forged acceptance.” And it gave me such cold shivers down my
back that I went hurrying on.
“Mr. Clarke will be paid his thousand pounds; and you will sit down at
that table and write on that sheet of paper a list of the moneys you
owe; they will all be paid--out of the fund which I have at my
disposal. Now, do not ask questions, but do as you’re told. Yes, it is
a miracle if you like to think it so, it’s the miracle which is going
to be the making of you. Now, sit down and write.”
He sat down and wrote; it took him some minutes. A young gentleman
cannot be expected to set down all he owes in an instant; I dare say
there were omissions in that list of his when it was finished, though
it came to a nice little total as it was.
“That’s a very great deal of money,” I told him when I glanced at it.
“Nearly three thousand pounds. It’s dreadful that a young man who is
practically penniless should owe all that. If, by a miraculous
interposition, it is paid, is this sort of thing going to recur? Wait
before you answer. You will leave Dieppe to-night, by the boat which
starts at half-past one. Miss Stainer will leave also, in charge of a
lady who is a very dear friend of mine. You will go to London, there
you will obtain a marriage licence, and the day after to-morrow, which
will be Thursday, you will be married.”
“Oh!” Margery gasped. I had to put an arm round her waist to hold her
steady.
“You will book two berths by the boat which starts for New York on
Saturday. On your arrival there employment will be found for you, and
you will be provided with funds which will enable you to live until
your salary falls due. The future will be in your own hands. Live
decently, keep out of debt, work like an honest man should do who has
given hostages to fortune, and there’s no reason I know of why you
shouldn’t be the happiest couple in the world--because you are
starting with a very valuable capital, your love for each other. Now,
Margery, you’re not to do that.”
The girl, having come close up to me, had laid her head against my
breast and was crying. I had to comfort her.
“Now, my dear, you must keep your head; you mustn’t give way; there
are heaps of things you must do. To-morrow you must buy your
trousseau, and all sorts of things you will have to have; and--now,
Margery, if you will keep on crying you’ll make me cry too, you
will--and I won’t.”
And I did not cry; I never do. I look upon crying as an absurd
feminine weakness; and if I did, it was nothing to speak of.
Everything happened as I intended. They left by the early morning
boat--Mr. Armitage was so shamefaced. He was still bewildered; even as
the boat was starting I believe he had a sort of feeling that his
brains were addled. Mrs. Curtis shared a cabin with the girl. And Mr.
Curtis stayed behind with me.
The next morning I interviewed Mr. Clarke. I sent for him to Mr.
Curtis’s sitting-room, and he came. Mr. Curtis was present to see that
everything was fair. I began at the visitor before his nose was well
inside the door--I did have such an objection to the man.
“Mr. Clarke, I presume you’re aware that you have placed yourself in a
very serious position?”
He glared at me as if he wondered who I was; then he looked at Mr.
Curtis, and perhaps that kept him from saying some of the things he
would have liked to say.
“You have in your pocket a forged bill of acceptance which you
received, well knowing it to be forged, and which you have used for
the purpose of extorting blackmail. I need not tell a person of your
experience that by so doing you have placed yourself within the reach
of the criminal law.”
He began to bluster.
“Who the deuce are you, and what do you mean by talking to me like
this?”
“Mr. Armitage has instructed me to act on his behalf.” I laid some
notes on the table. “There is the money he owes you. You’ll give me
the bill you hold and a quittance in full of all the claims you have
against him.”
The man made quite a pretty little scene--or, rather, he tried to;
because a few remarks from Mr. Curtis brought him to before he had
really got under weigh. When he left that room he had got his money,
and I had the bill and the quittance and everything I wanted. Then I
interviewed Miss Drawbridge.
I found her in the courtyard of the hotel having what she called her
“aperitive.” As always, I came to the point with her at once.
“Miss Drawbridge, Mr. Armitage wishes me to tell you that the
engagement which he entered into with you is at an end. As you made it
clear to me that there was no sentiment about the matter, I am sure
you will excuse my treating it as a business proposition--which is
off.”
She did not seem to mind my talking to her like that in the very
least. She was a most extraordinary woman. Instead of my taking her
aback, she took me.
“That’s all right. I’ve been turning matters over in my mind, and I
think myself that it would be better to cut the loss. Between
ourselves, I’ve almost decided to marry Captain Morgan. He’s a
gentleman I’ve known for some considerable period. Every time I meet
him he asks me to marry him, and I think, on the whole, he will suit
me better than Cecil Armitage; he’s more my sort.”
I believe my breath failed me. The rapidity with which she adjusted
herself to fresh matrimonial prospects was a trifle startling. I saw
that the person whom she called Captain Morgan was coming out of the
hotel.
“You were so kind as to lend Mr. Armitage a hundred and fifty pounds,
which he returns, and for which he thanks you. I think you’ll find
that correct.”
I laid a hundred and fifty pounds in bank-notes on the table and tore
off. Captain Morgan was within a yard or two.
I left with Mr. Curtis by the afternoon boat for London. The next day
that affectionate pair were married. Mr. Curtis gave the bride away,
and I was her bridesmaid. Afterwards we had quite a festive time with
Mr. and Mrs. Curtis. On the Saturday Cecil and Margery sailed. I doubt
if they had realized the situation even then. I believe they still
thought it was a miracle--and it was.
It was a miracle which materialized and, if I may mix my
metaphors--and I shall if I choose--bore fruit and flourished. Mr.
Curtis, that miracle-worker, gave Cecil a post in his own business--a
small one at first, but which rapidly grew in importance. Cecil
Armitage proved himself to be an excellent man of affairs;
hard-headed, shrewd Mr. Curtis both trusts and likes him. Margery
wrote to me only the other day that she and Cecil were the happiest
pair in the United States of America. That seems a tall order; I hope
there are lots of couples who are as happy as they are--but they are
happy.
The same mail brought me a letter from Mrs. Curtis. She said she hoped
to see me before very long with a husband of my own. She never, never
will. Never, never, never!
VI.
“AULD LANG SYNE”
One of the few cases in which I had any association with the police
was in connection with the affair of the shooting in Great Glenn
Street.
There was, about that time, an epidemic of shooting in that part of
London in which the inhabitants, for the most part, are certainly not
natives of the great city. The police had made a raid upon a club
which they had reason to believe was in reality nothing but a gambling
house. On their gaining entrance the lights had been extinguished and
firearms had been used by persons who, in the darkness, had been
invisible. Three of the constables had been shot--one of them had been
killed on the spot, the two others seriously wounded. In the confusion
the assassins had escaped. My connection with the matter began on a
Tuesday morning, some three weeks after the tragedy had taken place.
On the preceding afternoon an arrest had been made in a house in Park
Street. The man had made a desperate resistance; there had been
shooting on both sides. He had actually killed two officers before he
himself was rendered helpless. On the Tuesday morning of which I speak
I had business in the City. I learnt, casually, that Park Street was
quite close to the spot to which my business took me. I thought I
would go and see what sort of place it was; but only persons who could
prove that they had business there were allowed to pass into it.
When I saw the crowds which thronged the approaches I wished to go no
farther. I never saw such faces. Seldom has that gift of mine for
reading what people are saying merely by watching their lips had on me
a more curious effect.
On the fringe of the crowd on my right was a thin, undersized, yet
intellectual-looking man, on whose sallow cheeks the blue beginnings
of a beard lent him an appearance which was almost ghastly. There
could be no doubt that he was a foreigner, and one who was ill at
ease. He kept giving furtive glances round him, as if he feared that
something unpleasant might come at any moment from either side.
Presently something did come. A ginger-haired man, with a greasy cloth
cap on the back of his head, came shambling past me. He paused as if
to look about him. A more unpleasant-looking person one could hardly
imagine. Suddenly he caught sight of the individual I had been
observing. As he did so his whole being changed. It reminded me of
what one reads of the wild beast which bristles and quivers at the
sight of its prey. Moving stealthily towards the man with the sallow
cheeks, he gripped him by the shoulder. The man, springing from the
ground, leaped forward as if to tear himself free, but he of the
ginger hair had him in too fast a hold. They eyed one another. Words
came from the sallow man’s lips, a torrent of them; I could see them,
but what they meant I had no notion. They were in a language of which
I had no knowledge.
One thing was evident from the words I saw him utter--he spoke with a
strong accent. I had a vague general idea, but his exact words I could
not have reproduced. The ginger-haired man turned round so that I
could see the whole of his face. There was no mistaking what he said.
The words he uttered were sufficiently startling:
“I’ve only got to say a word to these blokes here, and they would tear
you to pieces. You mind what you’re saying.”
Whatever the other might have been saying, the ginger-haired man’s
words affected him in a manner which it was not pleasant to see. There
was an odd movement in his throat, as if there were something the
matter with the muscles. Then he spoke again, just two or three words.
That time I could see what he said.
“You go away--you let me go.”
“If I let you go, where shall I see you to-night? Don’t you make any
mistake about it, I’ve got to see you.”
The other replied:
“Why have you got to see me? What for?”
“Some one will be on the road to the gallows by this time to-morrow if
I don’t see you to-night--and you know who.” It was obvious from the
sallow man’s bearing that he did. I was conscious of an uncomfortable
sensation as I realized the fact. The ginger-haired man went on: “That
is, if they don’t out him before the hangman does. I’ve only got to
say half a dozen words and the hangman will never have his
chance--these here coves would do him out of his job.”
The look in the sallow man’s eyes became accentuated, but for the
moment the faculty of speech had gone. The ginger-haired man continued
instead.
“All right, you needn’t speak if it hurts you to try. I shall be at
Sam’s to-night at ten sharp. I shan’t stop if I don’t find you there;
I shall go straight off and make a few remarks to some gentleman who
will pay me handsomely for every one of them--and don’t you make any
mistake about it.”
The instant he disappeared the sallow-faced man slipped into a street
which was in front on the right.
I also departed--in a singularly disturbed state of mind. In the first
place, I wished that I had never come; and in the second, I had a most
uncomfortable feeling that by my coming I had placed myself in
possession of information for which, figuratively, all London was
groping. This feeling of discomfort was strengthened by an incident
which immediately followed.
A few paces ahead two men were strolling side by side. They were
apparently foreigners of the decent mechanic class. At the end of the
street they stopped. One of them turned towards the other. I saw him
say:
“Come into Sam’s; I’ll introduce you.”
At the corner where they were standing was a shop-front which reminded
me of a type of café one finds abroad. There was a good-sized window;
the lower half was painted a deep chocolate colour; across the upper
half a muslin curtain was drawn which badly needed washing. It was to
the building to which this window belonged that the speaker had
referred with a motion of his hand. Sam’s? The ginger-haired man had
advised the sallow-faced alien to meet him at Sam’s at ten o’clock.
Could this be the Sam’s to which he had referred? The pair in front
passed through a swing-door. I hesitated. There was nothing to show
what the place might be--no name, no sign, no anything. I saw two
constables advancing towards me. I addressed them.
“Can you tell me what that place is?”
I motioned towards the window at the corner of the street. They eyed
me with what seemed inquiring glances.
“That’s Sam’s,” said one; as he said it he smiled, as if something in
my question had amused him.
“Are ladies admitted?”
“Ladies? Well, I don’t know about ladies--it depends upon what you
call ladies. Chaps take their wives and sweethearts, and plenty of
women--respectable women--go in there by themselves; but as for
ladies--well, begging your pardon, I don’t suppose many of Sam’s lady
customers pay quite so much for their frocks as I dare say you do.”
“Is the proprietor’s name Sam?”
“I don’t suppose he pays rates and taxes under that name, if that is
what you mean. I fancy he is a Pole or a Russian, though he speaks
English as well as you or I do; but everybody about here knows him as
Sam.”
That night I paid a visit to Sam’s. I had to go, drawn there by a
magnet which was stronger than I. The compelling cause was the little
scene which I had witnessed between those two men. If they would be
there I felt that I must be; that I had to be there, if only to see if
they were. I could not make up my mind whether I should, or should
not, communicate with the police. I had an intuition that if that
meeting did take place, confidences might be exchanged which the
police might consider it extremely desirable that they should share.
And yet--I could not decide. Not improbably a telephone was available
at Sam’s; in a moment a message might be sent to the nearest station;
I could give them notice, at the last minute, that assistance might be
required, in time for it to reach me.
It was about twenty minutes to ten when I arrived at Sam’s. I need
hardly say that I was not wearing the frock to whose cost the
policemen had rather pointedly alluded, for I had no wish to have the
attention of Sam’s customers attracted to the splendours of my
costume. I passed the place four or five times before I actually
entered.
When I was in I wondered why I had hesitated as to entering. It seemed
quite respectable and fairly clean; and some of the customers, both
male and female, were of a better class than I had expected from what
the policeman said.
The apartment into which one came after passing the doors was a good
large one. I dare say there were between twenty and thirty
marble-topped tables, some of them quite large ones. At nearly all of
them people were seated; trade was brisk, and there was a babel of
voices. I took my seat at a table at which there were already a couple
seated. In the hasty glance which I had given round the place I had
been unable to discover either of the actors in the scene of the
morning. Most of the people seemed to be drinking coffee. I ordered a
cup. As it was being brought I looked carefully round; the whole place
was visible from where I sat; it was certain that neither of the men
was there. I glanced at the clock. It wanted four or five minutes to
ten. I sipped my coffee when it came, and found it surprisingly good.
What the people around were talking about I had not a notion; watching
their lips told me nothing. I had a feeling that more than one
language was being spoken. If there were a dozen, they were all
equally unknown to me.
The minutes passed. It was just on ten o’clock when the swing-door
opened and the man with the ginger hair looked in. He was probably the
only Englishman there. I thought of what I had heard of the unpleasant
type of countenance found among low-class aliens. He was to my mind by
far the most unpleasant-looking creature there. He glanced round. Not
seeing the person he sought, he came farther in and searched more
minutely. He glanced at the clock, hesitated, then took a seat at a
table near the door. He ordered a cup of coffee from the waiter. When
it came he began to swallow it in little gulps, glancing every moment
at the clock. The minute-hand marked ten minutes past. He emptied his
cup and rose to his feet, muttering something to himself. He might as
well have shouted at the top of his voice; it could not have been more
audible to me. His face seemed to be distorted by a sudden frenzy of
rage.
“I’ll pay him!” Those were the three words he muttered; they were
followed by a string of oaths. Then he moved as if to go, and as he
did so the sallow-faced man came in.
In the white glare of the electric light he seemed sallower than ever.
He was a curious figure as he stood there with one hand still on the
swing-door; so short, so slight, such a bundle of nerves; yet, as it
were, all instinct with electricity. When he saw the ginger-haired man
he held himself straighter, as if he had stiffened; as in the morning,
a look came into his eyes which was half rage, half terror. No
greetings were exchanged. The new-comer placed himself on a vacant
chair. The ginger-haired man sat down on the opposite side of the
table. From where I was I could see them perfectly. Then the
ginger-haired man said:
“Another half-minute and you’d have been too late.”
The sallow man, resting his arms on the table, seemed to consider the
other’s face. Then he spoke in what was no doubt a whisper, which only
reached the ears of the man whom he addressed. His accent must have
been less marked than it had been in the morning, because I saw so
clearly what he said.
“What do you think to gain by going to the police?”
“They offer a reward, don’t they?”
“I see--it is like that--it is the money you are after; so!”
“You take care what you’re saying; you keep a gag on that tongue of
yours, or you’ll be sorry.”
“You continually threaten. If it was me you threatened I would not
mind--not that.” He made a little movement with his hand. “But my
friends--my brother--that is another thing.” The speaker leaned
farther forward; probably he dropped his voice still more. “You are a
brave man to threaten, to my face, to sell my brother to the police
for money.”
The only effect which his words had on the ginger-haired man was to
make him angry.
“Do you think I’m afraid of you, or of your friends either? I’ll learn
you, if you talk to me like that. I’ll call Sam over here and tell him
right out what will settle you and your brother too!”
“My brother did not mean to shoot them.”
“What do I care? You tell that to the police; it don’t interest me.”
“He was a fool. He meant to frighten them; but he had the wrong
pistol, and in the dark he did not know it. He thought the pistol was
loaded with blank cartridge.”
“I say again, you tell that to the police, it don’t interest me. I
don’t care what he meant to do or what he did; that’s his affair, not
mine. It’s business I’m after.”
“What do you mean by ‘it’s business you’re after’? What do you want
from me?”
The ginger man had been sitting back in his chair. Now he also leaned
over the table, so that their faces almost met. He uttered one word:
“Money!”
“So! It is money you want from me? You know very well I have no
money.”
“I know that I want a hundred pounds from you--and I know I’m going to
get it.”
“You’re a fool! I have no hundred pounds, nor have I the moon.”
“You’re going to pay me by instalments, so much a week, until the
whole is paid. You’re going to start by giving me this week five
golden goblins.”
“I tell you I have not the money; I do not know where to find it.”
“How much have you got on you?”
“Three or four shillings--and that is all the money I possess.”
“Hand it over.”
The sallow-faced man stared as if he did not comprehend.
“But if I give you all that I have got I shall have nothing left. I do
not know where the next money is to come from; I shall have none with
which to buy food for to-morrow.”
“You hand over what you’ve got, and you turn your pockets inside out
to prove that it’s all you’ve got.”
“Do you think I am the sort that will let himself be robbed by such as
you? And if I say ‘No,’ what then?”
“Your brother will be in quod to-night--that’s what then. I’ll begin
by telling Sam and the blokes here that you’re the brother of the chap
that’s wanted for the shooting in Great Glenn Street; they’ll look
after you. Then there’ll be some one who’ll get him--don’t you make
any mistake about it.”
The sallow man’s big eyes seemed to have grown on a sudden still
larger, as if they had been distended by the stress of his emotion.
His lips twitched.
“You don’t know where he is!”
The ginger-haired man did not respond upon the instant. Possibly,
realizing how the other hung upon his expected answer, he chose to
play upon his feelings. When he did speak it was with that hideous
grin which made his evil face seem positively diabolical.
“Oh yes, I do know; I know as well as you do--perhaps better.”
“Then where is he?”
“Your precious brother is at No. 3 James Buildings, in the third-floor
front--that’s where he is. The room don’t belong to him; it belongs to
a lady, and the rent’s a week behind. Perhaps that’s news to you. The
lady is trying to find the money to-night to pay the rent in the
morning.”
“How do you know?”
“That’s tellings, how I know. I’ve a way of finding out things when I
want to. Look here, I’ve had enough of talking. Are you going to hand
over?”
“I will give you a shilling to-night, and I will see if I can find
some more for you in the morning.”
“A shilling! My crikey, there’s generosity! A shilling for your
brother’s life! Chuck that! You’ll not only hand over all the coin
you’ve got, you’ll give me your watch and chain and every blessed
thing you’ve got about you. And if you can’t find me some more by the
morning, I’ll have the clothes off your back. That’s what you’re going
to give me as a start for your brother’s life, my lad. Quick, too!
Hand over, now, or I’ll call Sam. Which is it to be?”
The ginger-haired man stretched out a huge, filthy hand, palm
uppermost, across the table. The other met his eyes, saw what was in
them, then proceeded to empty the contents of his pockets into the
upturned palm--a pocket-knife, a wooden pencil, a packet of
cigarettes, all sorts of oddments, even to his pocket-handkerchief.
Still the ginger-haired man was not satisfied.
“Sure that’s all? There’s not much here, you know. You haven’t got a
revolver? It’s not a nice thing to carry about with you if it’s
loaded.”
“I have nothing of the kind, I swear to you. I never had such a thing;
I am not that sort of man.”
“I thought you might have your brother’s. If you haven’t, perhaps you
will be able to get it for me. I shall be at the corner of Market
Street at half-past eleven to-morrow morning. I am going to have five
pounds out of you somehow this week, or--you know what. And don’t you
dare to be ten minutes late.”
The ginger-haired man rose from his chair, thrusting the other’s
miserable belongings into the side-pocket of his jacket as he did so.
Then, pushing the swing-door back, he passed into the night.
I was endeavouring to make up my mind what course I ought to pursue.
As I watched the sallow man I kept repeating to myself, “3 James
Buildings.” There could be no doubt who was the occupant of that
third-floor front; or, at least, it seemed to be clearly my duty to
give the police the earliest possible opportunity of resolving what
little doubt there was. I asked the waiter, who was a dwarf-like
person with scarcely a hair on his parchment-coloured scalp, if there
was a telephone in the house. He informed me that there was not, but
that there was a public telephone within a couple of minutes’ walk.
While I was speaking to the waiter the sallow man, getting quickly off
his chair, went swiftly through the swing-doors. Following him in less
than half a minute, I found him on the pavement without, talking to a
young woman who had a check shawl drawn over her head. They were
carrying on what seemed to be an animated conversation, in what was
probably a foreign tongue. Cutting it suddenly short, he went hurrying
down the street at what was very nearly a run. The girl stood looking
after him. Then, I presume, hearing my footsteps, she glanced round
towards me. She had quite a pleasant face; was scarcely more than a
child--possibly seventeen or eighteen; but in her eyes was that
uncomfortable look of something more than terror which had lent such
grisly character to the face of the man I could still see hurrying
through the street.
I left her there and went to seek the telephone. It was in a small
tobacconist’s shop. The people at the exchange put me on at once.
“Is that Scotland Yard?” I asked. “Who is that speaking? Put me on to
Inspector Ellis. I am Judith Lee. I have an idea that I can put you on
the track of the man you want for the shooting in Great Glenn Street.”
There came along the wire a sound which was very like an ejaculation
of surprise, even of incredulity.
“Are you serious, Miss Lee? Where are you speaking?”
“I want you to send half a dozen men in plain clothes, made up to look
as little like policemen as they can manage, to the corner of
Perrivale Street as soon as possible. Let them go singly and appear
not to know each other when they get there. I fancy it’s a ticklish
job they’ll have to handle. The great thing is not to arouse suspicion
till the thing is done. You had better come with them. How long will
it be before you are there?”
“I’ll be there as soon as a taxicab can bring me.”
“Will you be there, say, in fifteen minutes?”
“Before that--probably in less than ten.”
When I came out of the telephone-box there were two women standing
under a lamp-post on the edge of the pavement. I recognized one as the
girl with a shawl over her head who had been outside Sam’s talking to
the sallow man. The other was bare-headed, so that I could see her
scanty grey hair and how her face was seamed with wrinkles. They were
so absorbed in what they were saying that they did not notice me
standing at the door of the telephone-box. They seemed to be in a
state of almost hysterical agitation; unless I erred, tears were in
the voices as well as in the eyes of both. I looked at their lips,
expecting to find that they were still speaking in that unknown
tongue, and that, therefore, what they were saying was sealed from me.
After watching them a moment, however, it struck me that, while they
were not speaking in English, some of the words they uttered were not
unfamiliar.
A few months before the occurrences of which I am writing I had
received an invitation from certain persons who were starting an
institution for the education of deaf-mutes in the town of Posen, in
the province of that name, in that part of Eastern Germany which is
adjacent to Poland. I was invited for a month, but I stayed four. I
had a fair knowledge of German before I went, but the variety of the
language which was spoken in that part was new to me. Before, however,
I came away it had become more familiar. I had only to watch the two
women standing under the lamp-post closely for a few seconds to
perceive that that was the tongue they were speaking.
At first I merely caught a word here and there. Only by degrees did I
obtain anything like a clear insight into what they were saying. When
I did understand I lost words here and there, so that I had to guess
at them, but I learnt sufficient to render me thankful that I had been
able to learn so much.
One of the first words I caught was “bomb”--which in German is
“Bombe.” My interest in their conversation grew when I realized that
the word was being formed on the younger woman’s lips again and again,
and the sense in which it was being used. She repeated the same
statement two or three times.
“I tell you he has got a bomb on a little table by his bed.”
“But why a bomb?” the elder asked.
“Because he will not be taken. I have a particular
[Illustration: “I TELL YOU HE HAS GOT A BOMB ON A LITTLE TABLE BY
HIS BED”]
way of entering the room; he would know in a second if it was anyone
else who wished to enter. He says that if anyone tries to enter the
room, some one who is not me, he will push the bomb over on to the
floor--and that will be the end of everything.”
“He must be mad to have a thing like that at his bedside. Suppose the
table were to tumble over?”
“That would be the end! I tell you I am afraid to go near it, to look
at it. I would not touch it for all the money in the world. It is made
of some sort of glass; he says that if you hold it in your hand and
squeeze, closing your fingers on it sharply, like that”--she
demonstrated her meaning with her outstretched hand--“that would be
enough. What I have suffered because of that thing!”
The girl covered her face with the edge of her shawl, as if to hide
from herself the dreadful picture her imagination had conjured up. The
tears were streaming down the old woman’s wrinkled cheeks.
“He must be mad,” she wailed, “to have a thing like that beside his
bed.”
“That is not the worst,” continued the girl. “How can I tell you what
I suffer when I return? When I am going up the stairs my knees tremble
so that I can scarcely mount them; I tremble so that I can hardly
think of the signal which tells him it is I. Consider what would
happen if I made one little slip; he would not wait to give me a
chance to put it right--he has sworn it. That same moment the bomb
would fall.”
The two women were reducing themselves almost to a state of nervous
collapse by their own words. They both of them trembled and cried.
“What is the signal which you give?” asked the elder.
“It begins when I enter the house. I give one whistle--like that.” She
gave utterance to a clear, bird-like note. “As I ascend the stairs I
sing, something different nearly every day. He is so afraid that some
one will hear me and imitate that he makes me continually change.
To-night it is to be a verse of an English song--like this.”
As I stood on the step of the telephone-box she sang, just above her
breath, so that the air reached me, the chorus of “Auld Lang Syne,”
with the strangest accent.
“It is an English song; I do not know what it means. He sang it to
me--you know how well he sings.”
“He can still sing?” There was an anxious note in the elder woman’s
voice.
“Yes, a little; enough to make me understand. I do not ask him to
explain; I copy him as nearly as I can; for him that is sufficient. I
sing this song as I am ascending, my knees shaking, my tongue dry in
my mouth. When I reach the top, I pronounce what he calls the password
loud enough for him to hear it on the other side; to-night it is
‘Gruss.’ Then I knock on the door, three times; first one tap, then
two taps, then three taps; then I go in, and I sigh with thankfulness
because I am still alive. Then I see the bomb upon the table, and I am
worse than ever, because the sight of it terrifies me more than I can
tell you.”
“But there are other people in the house; they cannot go through all
this performance each time they go in or out?”
“That is where you are wrong; there is no one else in the house;
except that one, all the rooms are empty--that has been arranged. See,
I have here the street-door key; with that I let myself in; and----”
The elder woman interrupted her, without glancing in my direction; so
that if I had not been observing her lips I should not have guessed
that it was to me she referred.
“Why does that woman stay so long upon the step? You see how she is
watching us?”
The younger answered not a word. Without a look in my direction she
glided away, up the street on my left; while, without so much--so far
as I could perceive--as a peep towards me, the elder went trudging
past me on the right.
Within a very few minutes I was at the corner of Perrivale Street. As
I neared it a man came and accosted me.
“Miss Lee? I thought that you were not coming, that some hoax had been
played. I am Mr. Ellis--you telephoned to me just now.”
“Where are the men I asked you to send?”
“They are about the street, separately. They will gather at a word
from me. They are in charge of Inspector Davis, who is standing in
front of that shop-window smoking a pipe.”
I noted the burly figure to which he referred. So far as I could
judge, there was nothing to point to the presence of his six
policemen. He went on:
“Where is this man of whom you spoke? Are you sure that you are on his
track, or is it merely surmise?”
“This is going to be a much more delicate business, Mr. Ellis, even
than I supposed. The man who tries to arrest him will do so not only
at the peril of his own life, but of the lives of others.”
“Do you mean that there will be more shooting? We are prepared for
that.”
“I do not mean that there will be more shooting.”
I told him of the conversation with which I had just been made
acquainted. He heard me with growing amazement.
“Do you mean to say that the fellow has a bomb with him in his room,
which he will explode if anyone tries to take him? He will do for
himself if he does. Where’s the gain?”
“That I cannot tell you. These people seem to have their own ideas. He
will not only do for himself and his would-be captor, or captors, but
he’ll work wholesale havoc in the neighbourhood. That is a
consummation not to be desired.”
Mr. Ellis’s manner suggested that he was excited.
“But, even if you are right, even if the fellow is such a hideous
monster--because he is a hideous monster, is he to defy us, to escape
us? Are we not to take him? What are we to do?”
“I’ll tell you what we will do. I will take him.”
“You! You will take him! What do you mean by you will take him? Do you
imagine that we will allow you to do our work, to do what we dare not
do, to run a risk which we should be afraid to take? You are
dreaming.”
“I am not dreaming. It is because I am very wide-awake that I make the
proposition. There will be not only risk in your case, there will be
certainty. It would be absolutely certain that you would bring
destruction upon innocent heads; while, in my case, there will be
practically no risk at all. Let me explain.”
He condescended to listen as I went scampering on.
“This girl, from whom I learnt about the bomb, is the only person who
is allowed to approach his room. You must remember that the house is
empty. She is the only person he permits to enter. I propose to
pretend to be her.”
“Do you mean that you’re going to make up to imitate her? He would
probably detect you in an instant.”
“Not at all. I’m not going to try to imitate her in appearance.
Haven’t I been telling you about the elaborate series of signals by
which she announces to him her coming, and how she described them in
detail to the other woman? They’re what I’m going to imitate. I know
them off by heart. Before he’s begun even to suspect that there’s
anything wrong I shall be in his room.”
“There is, I am free to admit, a certain amount of sense in your
suggestion. The idea of imitating the girl’s signals is not bad; but
if you try that we shall have to enter the house with you--some of us,
at any rate; and, keeping close at your heels, go into the room with
you, and trust to luck to down him before he’s reached his bomb. There
are women in the force. I’ll get one here. You can tell her about the
signals, she can work them instead of you. It’s her business--as I
said, each to his job.”
“And don’t you realize that by this time that girl has probably gone
back to him, or may go back at any moment, and that then your chance
is lost? If anything is to be done, it must be done at once--now, and
I will do it.”
“Where’s the fellow to be found?”
“He’s at 3 James Buildings, in a room on the third-floor front.”
“That’s just round the corner, less than a minute from here. If you
and I go on in front, my men will follow.”
He turned into a narrow side-street. There was not a soul in sight. A
woman came out of a doorway on the left perhaps a dozen yards in front
of us. I whispered to my companion:
“That’s the girl--the one I saw talking about the bomb. She is
probably going to him now; if she gets to him first we are done.”
Mr. Ellis made a curious sound--I think he did it with his tongue
between his teeth. The girl hurrying along in front stopped and looked
round, as if to see from whom it came. Two men, appearing from what I
take it was an alley on the right, were on her before she could move.
Each had her by an arm.
She never uttered a sound or attempted to struggle. When we got to her
she seemed paralysed with terror--trembling as if, without the support
of her captors, she would have fallen.
Mr. Ellis spoke.
“You two had better look after her--take her to the station; detain
her till I come.” He addressed the girl. “Do you speak English?”
“I have no English.” It was with difficulty that she spoke. Then she
saw me. “You!” she exclaimed in German. “You were on the step.”