"I'll meet you beside the lake in St. James's Park, Buckingham Palace
end, at twelve to-morrow. Remember that."
"Very well," I responded eagerly. "Anything more?"
"No," was the reply. "Be careful how you get out, and where you go. So
long!"
Then, next instant, I knew by the sound that the connexion had been
switched off.
"What's the matter?" asked Patterson, now beside me.
"Wait, and I'll tell you afterwards," I said, at the same time ringing
up again.
In response I was answered by a feminine voice at the Exchange, who
inquired what number I desired.
"Tell me, miss, who has just been speaking to me. Kindly oblige me, as
it's most important."
There was silence for a few moments, then the female voice
inquired--"Are you there?" to which I responded.
"You were on a moment ago with 14,982, the public call-office at
Putney."
"How long was I on?"
"About ten minutes."
"Have I been on to the same place before this evening?" I asked.
"No. Several numbers have been ringing you up, but you haven't
replied."
"Who were they?"
"Oh, I really can't tell you now. It's quite impossible. I remember
that the call-office at Piccadilly Circus was one, and I think the one
in the Minories."
"They were all call-offices--no private persons?"
"I'm unable to say. I've been on duty for the past four hours, and have
connected up thousands of numbers."
"Then you can't tell me anything else?" I asked disappointedly.
"No. I'm sorry I can't," replied the girl.
I was about to place the receiver on its hook when a sudden thought
occurred to me, and again I addressed her.
"This matter is a most urgent one," I said. "Can't you ask at the
call-office for a description of the man who has just been speaking?"
"There's no one there. It is merely an instrument placed in a passage
leading to some offices," was the reply.
I hung up the receiver, and turning to Patterson repeated the
conversation.
"Extraordinary," he ejaculated, when I had concluded. "We must keep
that appointment. The inquiry is plain proof that murder has been
committed, and further, that more than one person is in the secret."
"But is it not strange that this person, whoever he is, should dare to
telephone in that manner?"
"It certainly is a bold move," my companion answered, "but from his
conversation it is evident that the assassin promised to telephone to
him, and was either disturbed in his work and compelled to escape
hurriedly, or else forgot it altogether. Again, it's plain that to
avoid detection the unknown man went from one call-office to another,
always ringing up to this house, and never obtaining a response until
you answered."
"His inquiry was certainly a guarded one."
"And your answers were smart, too," he laughed. "You were careful not
to commit yourself."
"Do you think he'll keep the appointment?" I asked eagerly.
"That remains to be seen," answered my friend, glancing at the
bull's-eye to see if it were burning well. "If he's not a blunderer he
won't."
"Well, let's hope he does," I said. "You would arrest him, of course?"
"I don't know," he answered doubtfully. "We might learn more by keeping
observation upon him for a day or two."
"Well," I said, "we haven't yet searched the place thoroughly. Let's
see what is above."
My companion followed me upstairs rather reluctantly, I thought, passing
the room where the mysterious tragedy had occurred and ascending to the
floor above. There were four bedrooms, each well-furnished, but finding
that they contained nothing of a suspicious character we continued to
the top floor, where there were several smaller low-ceilinged rooms
opening from a narrow passage. Two of them were evidently the sleeping
apartments of the servants, the third was filled with lumber, but the
fourth, which overlooked the back premises, long and narrow, was fitted
as a kind of workshop or laboratory. A curious smell greeted our
nostrils as we opened the door--a smell very much like the perfume on
the dead woman's handkerchief.
We found a gas-jet and lit it, afterwards gazing round the place with
some surprise. Upon shelves around the walls were various bottles
containing liquids; on the table stood two curious-looking globes of
bright steel, riveted like those of a steam-boiler, and connected by a
long tubular coil rolled into three consecutive spirals which ended with
a kind of nozzle. From the fact that an electric battery and a lathe
also stood in the room we at once came to the conclusion that the master
of that house had been engaged in some scientific investigations.
From place to place we went, searching every corner for any written
document or letter, until at last I found, crumpled and cast into the
empty grate, an old envelope on which I read the address: "Professor
Douglas Dawson."
"At any rate we've got the name of the occupant of this place," I said,
handing my find to the police-officer.
"Dawson?" he repeated, "Dawson? I fancy I've heard that name in
connexion with scientific discovery."
"I don't know," I said. "If he's a well-known man we shall soon find
out all about him at the Royal Institution."
I was standing near the fireplace with the envelope still in my hand
when, of a sudden, I was startled by a strange scuttling noise near my
feet.
"Good heavens!" gasped Patterson, his eyes riveted on the spot. "Look
there! Look at that glass case! There are snakes in it!"
I sprang away, and looking in the direction he indicated saw that a
glass case, standing on the ground, contained two great snakes with
beautiful markings of yellow and black. Even as I looked they were
coiled, with their flat heads erect and their bead-like eyes shining
like tiny stars in the shadow, their bodies half-hidden in a blanket.
"Nice kind of pets, to keep in a house," observed Patterson. "That's
one of them that's escaped into the garden, I expect."
"I quite agree," I said, "this place is decidedly the reverse of
cheerful. Hadn't we better report at once? There's been a mysterious
tragedy here, and immediate efforts should be made to trace the
assassin."
"But, my dear fellow, how do you know they've been murdered?" he argued.
"There's no marks of violence whatever."
"Not as far as we've been able to discover. A doctor can tell us more
after the post-mortem," I responded.
There were many very strange features connected with this remarkable
discovery. My friend's reluctance to commence an investigation, his
firm resolve not to report the discovery, the mysterious voice at the
telephone, the fact that some experimental scientist had his laboratory
in that house, and the revelation of the unaccountable tragedy itself,
were all so extraordinary that I stood utterly bewildered.
Absolutely nothing remained to show who were the pair lying dead, and no
explanation seemed possible of that strange red light burning there so
steadily, and unflickering. By the appearance of the glass, and the
dust in the oil, the tiny lamp must have burned on incessantly for a
very long time.
Strange it was that there, within a few yards of one of London's great
arteries of traffic, that charming woman and her companion should have
been cut off swiftly and suddenly, without a hand being stretched forth
to save them.
In company we went downstairs, leaving the light in the laboratory still
burning, and re-entered the drawing-room to take a final glance around.
As I approached the prostrate body of the man I felt something beneath
my foot, and glancing down saw that some coppers had evidently fallen
from his pocket and were lying strewn about the carpet. Then, having
remained a few minutes longer, we both went out by the door we had
entered, locking it and taking the key.
"We must report it, Patterson," I said. "It certainly has some queer
and very extraordinary features."
"Yes," he responded; adding slowly, "did you notice anything strange up
in that top room where the chemicals and things were?"
"Yes, a good deal," I answered. "It isn't every one who keeps snakes as
pets."
"I don't mean that," he answered. "But did you notice on the table a
glassful of liquid, like water?"
"Yes."
"Well, that stuff was bubbling and boiling without any heat beneath."
"Perhaps the man who experiments there is a conjurer," I suggested,
smiling at his surprise at seeing liquid boil when exposed to air.
Police-officers know little of any other science save that of
self-defence.
"Now," he said seriously, as we strode forward together in the direction
of Kensington Church, "you must go to the station and report the
discovery as if made by you--you understand. Remember, the snake
attracted your attention, you entered, found the man and woman lying
dead, lit the gas, searched the house, then left to get assistance, and
met me."
"That's all very well," I answered. "But you forget that you borrowed
that lamp from one of your own men, and that I called on you first."
"Ah!" he gasped; turning slightly pale. "I never thought of that!"
"Why don't you report it yourself?" I urged.
"For superstitious reasons," he laughed nervously.
"Hang superstition!" I cried. Adding: "Of course, I'll report it if
you like, but it would be far better for you to do so and risk this
mysterious bad luck that you fear."
He was silent for a moment, thinking deeply, then answered in a strange,
hard voice,--
"Perhaps you're right, Urwin. I--I'm a confounded fool to be afraid,"
and with an effort quite apparent he braced himself up and we entered
the police-station. Ascending the stairs we were soon closeted with
Octavius Boyd, inspector of the Criminal Investigation Department
attached to that Division, a middle-aged, dark-bearded, pleasant-faced
man in plain-clothes, who, as soon as he heard our story, was
immediately ready to accompany us, while five minutes later the clicking
of the telegraph told that news of our discovery was being transmitted
to headquarters at New Scotland Yard.
Patterson took down the _London Directory_, and turning it up at Upper
Phillimore Place, found that the occupier of the house in question was
Andrew Callender. He made inquiries in the section-house of the men off
duty as to what was known of that house, but only one constable made a
statement, and it was to the effect that he had, when on duty in
Kensington Road, seen a youngish lady with fair hair, whose description
tallied with that of the dead woman, come out and go across to the shops
on the opposite side of the road.
"Do you know anything of the servants?" inquired Patterson.
"Well, sir," the man answered, "one was a man, and the other a woman."
"How do you know?"
"Because the servant of the house next door told me so. The woman was
the cook, and the man did the housework. She said that the house was a
most mysterious one."
"Is she there now?" my friend asked.
"No, sir. She was discharged a fortnight ago. Dishonest, I think."
"And you don't know where she is?"
Boyd had by this time called one of his plain-clothes men, who had
obtained lamps, turning the dark slides over the flame, the
station-sergeant had carefully ruled a line and written something in
that remarkable register kept in every London police-station, wherein is
recorded every event which transpires in the district, from a tragedy to
the return of the sub-divisional inspector from his rounds, or the
grooming of the horses. Then, after a short conversation with one of
the second-class inspectors, we all four, accompanied by a sergeant,
started for Upper Phillimore Place.
In order not to attract attention we separated. Patterson walking with
me to the opposite side of the road, while the detectives walked
together, and the sergeant alone. Little did the passers-by suspect
when they saw Patterson and me strolling leisurely along that we were on
our way to investigate what afterwards proved to be one of the strangest
and most remarkable mysteries that had ever puzzled the Metropolitan
Police.