I TURN BURGLAR.
As I had now decided to devote myself to finding the man known as
the Dumpling, and to the clearing up of the mystery of my friend's
death and of the opium den, the first question to be asked (it was
the question I put to myself as I walked away from the inn) was,
"Did the Dumpling really believe me to be Grant?" If that were so,
it was possible that Grant had to the last successfully maintained
his disguise, and had met his death accidentally while shadowing the
fugitives, who had probably made their escape by way of the water. Or
it was possible that, without suspecting the supposed Chinaman to be
Grant, something may have happened after my departure to arouse the
Dumpling's suspicions in regard to Grant's good faith, in which case
short work would no doubt be made of the intruder.
What was more likely, for instance, than that, hearing the uproar
downstairs, after I had locked myself in the kitchen, and fearing
that I was being murdered, Grant had rushed down to my assistance, and
so betrayed himself? In which case, the Dumpling would have made no
bones about knocking him on the head, or otherwise despatching him and
throwing the body into the river. But, apart from the question whether
my friend had met his death by accident or by intention, the facts
seemed to justify me in assuming that the Dumpling had really believed
me to be Grant, the detective. The reader will remember that, after I
had locked myself in the kitchen, the Dumpling had called out, "Don't
say you haven't killed your man! He mustn't leave the place alive. It's
Robert Grant, the detective. I had word that he'd tracked us, and meant
trying to get in here to-night."
All this seemed strongly to point to the fact that the Dumpling _did_
indeed believe me to be the hated detective. How he had got wind of
Grant's intention to effect an entrance to the den, or how Grant
had contrived successfully to effect that entrance, and to disarm
suspicion, I did not know; but, supposing that news of the threatened
danger had only reached the ears of the Dumpling a few moments before
my arrival, and before he had time to turn his suspicions in other
directions--the fact that the news was followed by the entrance of
a suspicious stranger, who could give no better explanation for his
presence than a lame and apparently trumped-up story about a commission
to write a magazine article on opium dens, would certainly lend colour
to the assumption that I was the expected man. The determined and
desperate efforts which had subsequently been made to murder me, all
seemed to point the same way; and I decided to start my investigation
by assuming that the Dumpling and his accomplices had believed, and
still believed, me to be none other than Robert Grant, the detective.
If that were so, my escape would cause something like a panic among
them, and would lead to their taking immediate steps to discover my
whereabouts, and to put me out of the way. The first of these immediate
steps would be to set a watch upon Grant's house; and to discover
whether this was being done, must be my very first business. The fact
that Grant's house was being watched--unless, of course, I could
satisfy myself that the watching was being done by the police--would
not only go far to prove the accuracy of my theory, but would also
be the means of putting me upon the track of the Dumpling or of his
accomplices.
Naturally, I had to go to work very carefully. Were I, even if
skilfully disguised, to do so much as walk twice, or even once, up the
street in which Grant's house was situated, I should be in danger of
attracting attention. Shadowing the house by concealing myself in dark
doorways and lurking around corners, was quite out of the question, and
the common plan of posing as a lodger, and hiring a room or rooms in an
opposite or neighbouring house, would be equally impracticable.
Even if I commissioned a friend to make the necessary inquiries,
I should have to take possession of my lodgings--if suitable
lodgings with a view of the street were found, which was by no means
certain--more or less openly; and having once taken possession, I could
not get in and out without attracting attention.
Everyone who knows the West End of London is familiar with the somewhat
shabby side streets which borrow gentility and grandeur from the
fact that they are situated near, or off, a fashionable square, from
which they take their name. Grant lived in Taunton Place, a modest
little street consisting of two rows of small houses which abutted
upon the many mansions of aristocratic Taunton Square. Driving through
Taunton Place, sitting well back and out of sight in the recesses of
a four-wheel cab, I observed an empty house on the opposite side of
the way to Grant's, and almost at the corner where Taunton Place and
Taunton Square converged. Waiting till night had set in, I burgled this
empty house from the back, and began my watch.
The result was in every way satisfactory. Grant's house was undoubtedly
being watched, and by a man who, it was not difficult to see, was
doing double duty. He was keeping a constant eye not only upon No. 10,
Taunton Place, where Grant resided, but also upon a big, pretentious,
bow-windowed and pillar-porticoed mansion known as No. 5, Taunton
Square.
Again and again I saw him pass the windows of the big house and look
in; again and again I saw him watching, from his corner, everyone who
called either at No. 10, Taunton Place, or at No. 5, Taunton Square.
After a time a well-dressed man walked up to No. 5, Taunton Square,
knocked, and, when the door was opened, entered. He remained there
for twenty minutes, and when he came out was promptly followed by the
shadower. The coast being thus clear, I left my own post, and on making
inquiries at a tavern where I called for a glass of beer, was told
that No. 5, Taunton Square had recently been taken by a gentleman from
America, named Carleton, a widower and reputed millionaire, who lived
there with his daughter, Kate, and his unmarried sister. Here again
was an interesting discovery which promised developments. The hapless
Parker had told me of seven millionaires who once a month repaired
to a tavern in Shadwell, where they dined upon humble fare, drank
"four half" out of pint pots, and smoked shag tobacco in clay pipes.
It did not seem to be an improbable story, and, personally, I had a
secret and sneaking sympathy--due possibly to my own low tastes--with
anything which promised so complete and sensible a return to nature. I
have myself partaken--not lavishly, perhaps, but with gusto--of malt
liquors, served in pewter pots in country taverns, have smacked my lips
(another evidence of a debased nature), and have sat back in my chair,
sighing with replete contentment, and possibly with an inner man by
no means indifferently fortified by that excellent complement to good
beer--bread and cheese. At such times I have called life good, and have
found myself in peace and charity with all my neighbours.
Did all self-made millionaires renew their youth, and remind themselves
of their struggling days, by becoming members of the club of which
Parker had spoken, they would afterwards, I am persuaded, return to the
scene of their splendour in a humble and chastened frame of mind, which
might possibly prompt them to do something more permanent, and more
sensible, for their less fortunate fellow creatures than the founding
of free libraries. I may add that I do not claim any copyright in the
idea, and that should Mr. Andrew Carnegie be as assiduous a reader of
my instructive writings as it is to be hoped a gentleman so interested
in the free circulation of sound literature should be, he need fear no
action for infringement of copyright, should he be disposed to devote
the remainder of his--I fear--fast vanishing millions to such a purpose.
But to return to my story.
According to Parker's statement, the Dumpling, whose studies of natural
history had possibly led him to the conclusion that every creature
which comes into the world is so constituted that other and smaller
creatures should prey upon it, had so far fallen in with the existing
scheme of things as to decide to play the part of a plutocratic
parasite. His plan was forcibly to kidnap a millionaire when on his
way to or from the Shadwell banquet, and to hold him to ransom for an
immense sum, which was to go into the pockets of the Dumpling and his
accomplices. The fact, then, that a shadower--presumably acting on
behalf of Dumpling and Company--was carefully watching the house of a
millionaire, seemed not only to confirm the truth of Parker's story,
but to point to the very man whom the Dumpling intended to kidnap and
to bleed.
To trap a fox, it is of service to know upon which particular
chicken-house he is concentrating his attention.
While Brer Fox Dumpling was engaged in stalking and carrying off Brer
Rooster Millionaire, Brer Rabbit Rissler might, by keeping an eye upon
Brer Rooster, succeed in learning the whereabouts of, and ultimately in
stalking and trapping, Brer Fox himself. For the moment the Dumpling's
shadower was off duty, as regards the watch he was keeping upon No. 10,
Taunton Place and No. 5, Taunton Square; being engaged, as I had reason
to know, in following up the caller at Mr. Carleton's house.
Having satisfied myself that no understudy had come to take the
shadower's place or to relieve guard, I jumped into the first
four-wheeler that passed.
"Drive to No. 5, Taunton Square," I said to the cabby, "and when we are
there, get down and knock at the door. Meanwhile, I'll wait in the cab
till the door's opened, so that I can slip in at once. If anybody asks
you who I am and where you took me up, say at the Hotel Cecil, and that
you think I'm on a company-promoting job, as you have driven me already
to the houses of half a dozen company-director millionaires. Here's
half-a-crown--no, I'll make it two half-crowns, if you do as I tell
you, and hold your tongue."
With a nod and a grin he opened the cab-door and I got in. In less than
two minutes we were at No. 5, Taunton Square, and the instant the door
of the house was opened, in reply to the driver's knock, I was out of
the cab and had slipped inside and shut the door behind me, before the
astonished flunkey could as much as ask my name.
"Is Mr. Carleton in?" I snapped. "I've got some very important news for
him, and must see him without a moment's delay."
I spoke authoritatively, even sharply, and in no way as a stranger who
is unassured of his welcome.
"No, sir," the fellow answered respectfully. "He isn't in just now."
"When will he be?" I demanded.
"Well, sir, that's just what I can't say. If you'll take a seat in the
library, I'll ask Miss Kate if she has any news. She'll be----"
"Yes," I said peremptorily, "that'll do. Take me to her at once. Don't
delay in sending up word. There's not an instant to lose. Take me to
her straight."
Somewhat doubtfully, but scarcely liking to disobey one who spoke with
so confident an air, the man led the way to a door at the end of the
hall, and was just about to knock when it opened, and I saw standing
before me none other than my Lady of the Lake.
"Forgive this intrusion," I said, "but I bring you news of your father."
"I am relieved to hear it," she answered cordially, but quite coolly.
"It is very strange that he should neither have returned last night nor
sent a message. You are sure that he is safe and well?"
For the moment I was so taken aback that I faltered. Was I, then, too
late? Had the Dumpling already carried out his villainous purpose?
Then, pulling myself together, I answered, cheerfully:
"Yes, he is safe and well--make yourself quite easy about that; and I
know with whom he is staying. I will tell you all about it, if you will
allow me."
"Please come in," she said.