About twenty minutes elapsed before Patterson rejoined me, but
expressing a fear that we might be overheard there, we went forth
together and strolled along High Street, until, coming to a quiet
turning which, I think, led past the workhouse, we strolled along it,
and there he commenced his explanation.
"The fact is," he said in a nervous, hushed voice, "there's been a most
extraordinary occurrence here to-night. The mystery is the strangest in
all my experience, and I've made inquiries into one or two in my time,
as you know."
"Tell me all about it," I said, my curiosity whetted.
"I wish I could, my dear fellow," he answered.
"I mean, tell me all the known facts."
"Nothing is known--save the discovery," he replied. "As soon as it
became known I wired to you. When the papers get hold of it, it will
make the greatest sensation ever known in London."
"Well, that's saying a good deal," I remarked. "Who made the
discovery?"
"I did," he answered, adding quickly, "but don't mention me, or the
superintendent may suspect me of giving you information. He already has
a suspicion that I'm a bit too friendly with you gentlemen of the press.
A contravention of the Commissioner's orders against giving information
to the papers might get me carpeted up at the Yard, you know."
"And the discovery?" I asked impatiently. "What's its nature?"
"Most astounding," he replied, with a bewildered look. "I'm a police
officer, Urwin," he added hoarsely, "and I'm not often unnerved. But
to-night, by Jove! I'm upset--altogether upset. The whole affair is so
devilish uncanny and unnatural."
"Tell me the story," I urged. "If it is so strange the evening papers
will have a good time to-morrow."
"No, no," he cried in quick alarm. "You must publish nothing yet--
nothing. You understand that I give you these facts only on condition
that you promise not to publish any thing until I give you permission.
You alone will know of it. We must preserve the utmost secrecy. Not a
word must leak out yet. You understand in what an awkward position you
would place me were you to publish anything of this affair."
"Of course. I promise you to keep the matter a strict secret," I
answered. "There are many cases in which the publication of the details
of a crime might defeat the efforts of the police, and this I supposed
to be one of them."
"Well," he said, "I made the discovery in a most curious manner. Just
before seven o'clock this evening, just as it was growing dark, I was
returning to the station after visiting the `fixed-point' at the corner
of Earl's Court Road. You know the spot--just opposite Holland Park."
I nodded. I knew that particular street-corner where Earl's Court Road
joined Kensington Road quite well.
"I had previously been my usual round through Campden Hill Road and
Holland Walk, and was strolling back along the main Kensington Road,
past that terrace of houses Upper Phillimore Place, when my attention
was suddenly arrested by seeing on the steps leading from the pavement
up to the front garden of one of the houses a small object moving. It
was inside the gate, and in the dim half-light I bent to examine it.
What do you think it was?"
"Don't know," I replied. "Don't ask riddles--describe facts."
"Well, it was the very last thing one would dream of finding on a London
doorstep--a small, strangely-marked snake."
"A snake!" I echoed. "You didn't arrest it for being found without
visible means of subsistence, I suppose?"
"No," he answered, controlling the smile which played about his lips.
"But the thing's too serious for joking, as you'll recognise when I've
told you all. Well, the squirming reptile, as soon as it saw me, coiled
itself round, and with head erect and swelled, commenced hissing
viciously. I saw that there was considerable danger in a thing like
that being at large, and surmising that it had escaped from the house,
having been kept in captivity by somebody fond of such pets, I opened
the gate, passed it, not, however, without it making a dart at me, and
walking up to the door, rang the bell. The house was in total darkness,
but daylight had only just faded, and in many of the houses in the same
terrace the gas in the hall had not yet been lit. I rang and rang, but
there was no response. In a large house of that character it seemed
strange that no servant was about. Indeed, most of the houses there,
large, roomy and old-fashioned, let furnished apartments, but this one
seemed to be superior to its neighbours, inasmuch as it has a balcony on
the first floor, and the small front garden is well-kept in comparison
to the patches of bald, weedy grass with which the others are content.
As I stood on the doorstep, trying to arouse the inmates, I watched the
reptile squirming about the paved path, apparently enjoying its liberty
immensely. I placed my ear attentively at the door, trying to detect
some sound of movement, but failed, until suddenly I heard within the
ringing of an electric bell, subdued by reason of the closed door. It
was certain that, after all, some one was within."
"Was your summons answered?" I asked eagerly.
"No. I rang fully a dozen times, but nobody came. It occurred to me
that within might be an invalid, and that, hearing my ring, he or she
had rung the bell to the kitchen, but the servants were absent. There
was an area door, so I descended, and tried that. The handle yielded.
It was unlocked. Therefore I pushed it open and went in, though I was
certainly not prepared for the discovery I afterwards made. As I
entered, the electric bell commenced ringing again, but it was
apparently above me, on the ground floor, and not in the kitchen where I
stood. In the cooking-stove the fire was dying out, and there were
other signs that servants had been about recently. Finding no one in
the basement I ascended to the first floor, when there greeted my
nostrils a most delicious fragrance, very similar to the incense which
the Roman Catholics burn. The place smelt like the Brompton Oratory."
"Well, what did you do next?" I asked, excited at his extraordinary
narrative.
"I searched the two big rooms--a dining-room and a back sitting-room--on
the ground floor, but finding no one, I stood at the bottom of the
stairs and shouted, thinking to discover the whereabouts of the invalid
who had rung the bell. There was no answer. The place was dark, so I
struck a match, ascended to the first floor and entered the front room,
which proved to be a good-sized, well-furnished drawing-room, dimly lit
by the street-lamp opposite shining through the windows. At the further
end, suspended from the ceiling, a curious lamp was burning in red
glass, just like those one sees in Roman Catholic churches, and on
examining it I found it to be a little float in oil, so arranged that it
would burn continuously for many days and nights without attention. It
looked strange and weird, a red spot in the darkness at the end of the
room; but what was stranger and more amazing was a discovery I made a
moment later when, my eyes having grown used to the semi-obscurity of
the room, I discerned two human forms, one that of a woman lying back in
an armchair as if asleep, and the other a man, who had fallen close by
and was lying outstretched upon the carpet. Even the faint light of the
match I struck told me that both were dead, and so startled was I by
this unexpected revelation that with scarcely a second glance round the
weird place I hastened downstairs and left by the front door."
"You went on to the station at once, I suppose?"
"Yes," he answered; then after a pause he looked straight into my face,
adding, "but to tell the truth, Urwin, you and I are the only persons
who know of this affair. I haven't reported it."
"Haven't reported it?" I echoed. "Why not? Delay may prevent the
mystery being unravelled."
"I know it's absurd and foolish," he faltered in an unsteady voice, "but
the fact is, I entertain a deep-rooted superstition about snakes. My
poor wife was always dreaming of snakes before she died, and strangely
enough, whenever I have seen those reptiles in my dreams some bad luck,
catastrophe or bereavement has always fallen upon me immediately
afterwards."
"It isn't like you to speak thus, Patterson," I said, knowing him to be
a fearless man who more than once had boldly faced a burglar's revolver.
"I really don't know what to do," he said. "It's nearly two hours ago
since I entered the place. I was so upset when I came out that I went
to the telegraph office and wired to you, in the hope that you might be
able to suggest some plan of action."
"Report at once and let's thoroughly investigate it," I said promptly.
"No. I can't report it on account of that snake. If I did, I feel
assured that some fatality would fall upon me."
"You're unnerved by what you've seen," I said. "It certainly was not a
nice position to unexpectedly find oneself alone with the dead in a dark
deserted house like that. In any case, however, the matter is a queer
one and must be sifted."
"Yes," he said, "it appears to be a most remarkable affair."
"Well," I exclaimed, "if you are determined not to report it just at
present I'm ready to go with you and search the place. The area door is
still unlocked, you say?"
He hesitated, pale and agitated. The effect of this discovery upon him
had been really remarkable.
"Yes, the door is still unlocked, of course," he said reflectively, "but
personally I don't care about returning."
"Rubbish, my dear chap," I exclaimed. "I don't believe in
superstitions. The finding of the snake was curious, no doubt, but this
isn't the first time snakes have been found in the streets of London.
Lots have been discovered about Covent Garden Market, having come over
in baskets of fruit."
He was silent. Evidently his discovery had been a very unusual one. I
know well the row of houses he had indicated, the most old-fashioned,
perhaps, in the district, for they had formed a part of old Kensington
over a century ago, and even now the great iron extinguishers ornamented
some of the doorways, mute remembrancers of the days of sedan chairs and
linkmen.
"Let's go and explore the place, and report afterwards," I urged, my
appetite for adventure whetted by his strong disinclination to return.
"I'll report it as a discovery of my own if you are disinclined to do
so."
"Very well," he answered at last, "let's go. But before we enter I tell
you that it is a very mysterious house. Recollect that strange ringing
I heard."
"We'll look into all that later on," I said, surprised at his unusual
agitation. There, facing one of the busiest thoroughfares of the West
End, little harm surely could come to us. "Come along," I said, and
thus persuaded, he quickened his footsteps. We passed along Abingdon
Villas into Earl's Court Road, where, meeting a constable on duty, he
borrowed his lamp; then turning into the Kensington Road we at length
reached the house of mystery, which, as he had said, was a
gloomy-looking place in total darkness.
We peered eagerly inside the gate, but could distinguish no sign of the
reptile which had so strangely attracted my friend's attention in the
first instance. It had no doubt withdrawn among the plants and shrubs
in the little smoke-dried garden, and was watching us unseen. Without
hesitation, in order not to attract the curiosity of any passer-by whose
attention might be arrested by Patterson's uniform, we walked straight
to the area door, and gaining the kitchen, at once lit the gas. As he
had said, there was every sign that the place had been recently
occupied, but with only a cursory examination of the basement we passed
upstairs to the dining-room. Here we also lit the gas and saw that the
table had been laid for three persons in a manner quite luxurious, with
real silver, cut glass and tiny vases of fresh flowers arranged
artistically. Beside each plate were blue glass finger-bowls filled
with water which gave out a strong perfume of roses. The chairs had
been placed, and the _hors d'oeuvres_, olives, anchovies and caviare
were already on the table, showing that all preparations for dinner had
been made. Yet strangely enough, in the kitchen the greater part of the
meat and vegetables remained uncooked.
From this room we passed into the smaller one adjoining, lighting the
gas as we went, but this seemed to have been used as a smoking-room, and
contained nothing of note.
It was, however, in the drawing-room above where we made the most
astounding discoveries. The apartment was spacious for the size of the
house, upholstered in pale-blue with furniture of expensive character,
and large growing palms placed on stands. In the centre was a great
circular settee, and in the corners wide soft divans of pale-blue velvet
with golden fringe. Comfort and luxury had been studied by whoever had
furnished the place, for as we lit one of the side gas-brackets we saw
that it was really a very artistic room, the floor covered with a real
Turkey carpet of softest hues, while the few paintings on the walls were
choice examples of well-known artists. At the end opposite the grate
was suspended from the ceiling by three gilt chains the mysterious
little red lamp, burning steadily without a flicker, and beneath it,
fallen back in a large armchair, was a woman, whose face, although waxen
white, was eminently beautiful. The paleness of death was upon her, yet
her handsome head with its wealth of gold brown hair was pillowed upon
the cushion of yellow silk, and upon the cold, slightly-parted lips
there played a strange, bitter smile. She was young, twenty or so,
dressed in an artistically-made gown of pale mauve, trimmed with lace.
Her teeth were even and perfect; her cheeks round and well-moulded; her
chin slightly protruding, and a piquant little nose; but that smile in
death seemed revolting in its hideousness. Her eyes large, of a deep
blue, once luminous as stars no doubt, but now dull and filmy, were wide
open, as though gazing out upon us in an endeavour to speak and tell us
the truth of the strange and tragic occurrence. I looked upon her
bewildered, dumbfounded.
Not three yards away, stretched at her feet, was a man of about
thirty-five, well-dressed in frock coat and light-coloured trousers,
with collar and cravat of the latest mode, and wearing on his cold,
stiff hand a ring set with a single diamond of unusual lustre. His face
was towards the carpet, and while I held the lamp, Patterson bent and
turned him over. We then saw that he was dark and good-looking, a
gentleman evidently, although from the upward curl of his moustache and
his smartness of attire he appeared to be something of a fop.
"It looks a good deal like murder and suicide," Patterson exclaimed,
still bending over him. "I wonder who he is?"
"There's initials on his sleeve-links," I said, for I had detected an
engraved cipher upon the plain gold buttons at his wrists.
"They're two `K's' intertwined, surmounted by a crest," my companion
said in a strange voice. "I wonder what's on him?" and he proceeded to
search the breast-pocket of the dead man's coat. The contents, which we
afterwards examined together, consisted only of two prospectuses of new
companies, an amber cigar-tube mounted in gold, and the envelope of a
letter addressed in a woman's hand to "George Grove, Poste Restante,
Charing Cross," and bearing the Manchester post-mark of three days
before. The letter had unfortunately been destroyed; only the envelope
remained. But we both recollected that persons who have letters
addressed to the Poste Restante do not usually give their correct names.
In one of the vest pockets were three ten-pound notes folded carelessly
together, while in the trousers pockets was a quantity of loose silver.
Beyond that there was nothing else upon him. Contrary to the effect of
death upon his unfortunate companion, his face was slightly distorted,
the tip of the tongue protruding, and both hands clenched, showing that
he had endured a momentary spasm of agony as the last spark of life died
out, while from the fact that a small tripod table with painted
plate-glass top had been overturned and broken it seemed apparent that
he had staggered and clutched wildly at the first object within his
reach.
But on neither could we detect any wound, nor was there anything to show
the cause of death. I examined the hand of the woman, a tiny, slim,
cold hand, the contact of which thrilled me by its chilliness, and saw
that her rings, set with emeralds, rubies and diamonds, were of the
finest quality.
"She's beautiful," Patterson observed, gazing down upon her. "Perhaps
she was his wife."
"Perhaps," I said. "Curious that they should have both died together in
this manner."
"They were evidently sitting here chatting before dinner, when both were
either murdered, or died suddenly before assistance could reach them.
She died before he did."
"What makes you think that?" I asked quickly, my eyes wandering around
the large, comfortable room, the atmosphere of which was heavy with
fragrant odours.
"Because he placed that cushion beneath her head," answered the shrewd,
observant police-officer. "He had kissed her, and she was in the act of
smiling at his last act of love when her heart suddenly failed, and soul
and body parted."
"And he died immediately afterwards, you think?"
"Yes, that's what I surmise. What's your opinion?"
"I can form no theory at present," I answered, bewildered. In the
course of years spent in the investigation of crime for journalistic
purposes I had had my wits sharpened, and rather prided myself upon the
soundness of the theories I propounded in the articles I wrote.
Patterson knew this, and probably for that reason had invoked my
companionship in this curious affair.
Together we made a searching examination of the whole room, but there
was absolutely nothing to show the motive, or even the mode, of the
tragedy. The absence of servants was of course extremely suspicious,
but neither of us attached much importance to that. A close examination
of the scene was our present object, experience having taught that upon
the scene of most crimes there remains some trace of the assassin. The
old saying that "Murder will out" is truer than the majority of people
believe, for even that night we had had a striking illustration in
Patterson's attention being attracted by the snake in the gateway.
Beside the dead woman's chair was lying a handkerchief, a tiny square of
lawn and lace, which I picked up. It emitted an odour very sweet and
subtle, such as I had never before smelt.
Patterson sniffed it, but placed it down.
"Some new scent," he said. "Women are always going in for the latest
inventions in perfumes."
"But this is an extraordinary one," I said, again smelling it.
"Terribly strong, too," I added, for the odour had a strange,
half-intoxicating effect upon me. The small red light steadily burning,
the fragrance of the incense, the two dead forms lying there, still and
cold, and the single gas-burner, hissing as it flared, combined to
present a weird, lurid picture, each detail of which has ever since been
indelibly photographed upon my memory.
The smile of death upon that woman's lips was horrible. That look of
hers has ever since haunted me, for now that I know the truth and have
realised all that had taken place in that room prior to the tragedy,
that laugh of derision has a significance which renders its recollection
bitter, gruesome, hideous.
I know not what prompted me at that moment, but bending again beside the
prostrate man I placed my hand inside his vest, recollecting that
sometimes tailors, adopting the French mode, made pockets there, and
that therein many men carried articles of value in secrecy and safety.
As I did so, I felt that there was a pocket in the lining, that it was
buttoned, and that there was something within. Quickly I unbuttoned it
and drew forth a small packet wrapped in glazed writing-paper, dirty and
worn through being carried for a long time. With care I opened it, and
inside found an object which caused us both to give vent to an
ejaculation of wonder.
It was simply a penny.
"His mascot, I suppose," remarked the inspector. "A lucky coin."
"But it has no hole through it," I observed.
"The hole is of no importance. The coin may have been given him for
luck," replied my companion. "Lots of people believe in such things,
especially betting men."
"He was evidently very careful of it," I said, at the same time
searching and finding another pocket on the other side of the vest, and
from this I took a neat little cloth-covered case, not much larger than
those containing cigarette tubes, and found on opening it that it
contained a small hypodermic syringe, complete with its needles and
accessories.
"This shows that he was addicted to the morphia habit," I remarked. "An
overdose, perhaps."
My friend, who had now recovered something of his coolness and
self-possession, took the tiny instrument and examined it carefully
beneath the gas-light.
"There's been no morphia in this lately," he said. "It's quite dry, and
certainly hasn't been used to-day."
"Let's search the whole house," I suggested. "We may find something
which will give us a clue as to who and what these people were. Funny
that the servants don't come back, isn't it?"
"I don't expect they will," answered Patterson.
"Depend upon it that there's more mystery in this affair than we at
present suspect."
"Why?"
"Look at these," he said, passing over to me the three banknotes found
upon the dead man. "They are spurious!"
No second glance was needed to convince me that he spoke the truth.
They were clever imitations of ten-pound notes, but the paper, the
despair of the forger, was thick and entirely different to that of the
genuine bank-note.
Again I glanced at that beautiful woman's face with its smile of mingled
ecstatic pleasure and bitterness. Her sightless eyes seemed fixed upon
me, following me as I moved.