A JOURNEY TO NOWHERE
It was between three and four o’clock in the afternoon. Already the
lamps were lighted. The fog still hung over the city. From the
appearance of things it might have been night.
“To her!” I said to myself. I called a cab. “To Hailsham Road--the
Boltons!”
I examined my possessions. Time pressed. Return to Imperial Mansions
was out of the question. Of what crime I had been guilty I did not
know; that there would be a disposition to make me smart for it I felt
persuaded. I have lived in places where, as much as possible, a man
carries his valuables upon his person, for safety. The habit has clung
to me a little. As a rule I carry more money than, I believe, the
average Englishman is apt to do. I had in my letter-case over £100 in
notes, in my pockets nearly £20 in sovereigns; a sufficiency for my
immediate requirements. It was enough to take two people out of reach
of the storm.
As we entered Hailsham Road I saw that a man was standing at the
corner. Turning, as we passed, he closely scrutinised both the cab and
me. The maidservant answered my knock. Miss Moore was in--Miss Adair
out. Miss Moore was better, thank you. She would inquire if I could
see her.
She showed me into the sitting-room. A bright fire was blazing. The
apartment was redolent of a particular aroma, perceived of my
imagination, perhaps, rather than my senses. It was an aroma I loved.
I had never seen a room I liked so much. While I was considering that
it might turn out unfortunately for the gentleman at the corner,
should he show too pertinacious an interest in my movements, she came.
With a little flutter, and a little laugh--the sound of which was
good--she held out both her hands.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come. If you’d been much longer, I should have
come to you. Where have you been?”
“For some part of last night I was out in the street, watching your
window.”
“Out in the street! But--why didn’t you come in?”
“It was too late to pay a call. Besides--I did make inquiries, and
they told me you were in bed, and ill.”
“I was not very well. I believe I was light-headed. But I’m better
now; my own proper self--not the person you have known.”
“Indeed.”
“And--I know.” She drew back a little, looking down at her foot, which
peeped out from under the hem of her gown, as if it were a curious
thing--which it was, for beauty. “I know all that you did for me, how
good you were.”
“Then you know nothing.”
She looked up at me with a sudden flashing in her eyes.
“I know all. I know that I didn’t do it. Aren’t you glad?”
“I never supposed you had a finger in the matter.”
“That is strange. Appearances were all against me; you knew not what I
was, or anything at all. I came into your room in--in a most
disreputable way, with an impotent tale--which was none at all. My
cloak was wet with blood. You have it now.”
“I had it.”
“You must have suspected me of at least some sort of hand in it; it
would have been only natural.”
“To me it seems that it would have been most unnatural.”
“That’s odd. I believe I’m suspected by all sorts of people; by some
of the very worst. And you never doubted me at all?” She breathed a
little quickly as if she sighed. “I am glad. So long as you know that
it was not a murderess who came through your window like a thief, I do
not seem to care what others think, which is absurd. For I had no hand
in it, nor had you; nor had Mr. Lawrence’s brother.”
“But--who then?”
“That, as yet, I can’t quite see. There was something strange about
it; something like a conjuring trick, which I am not sure that I
understood, even at the time. It was all done by some dreadful
creature, the mere horror of whose presence drove me from my senses. I
can’t think what it can have been.”
When, stopping, she stood before me, with shining eyes; her lips
parted with a smile, so as to show the small white teeth within, I was
at a loss how to enter on the subject of my errand. So, as usual, I
blundered.
“Unfortunately, men are mostly fools, and blind.”
There my tongue stuck fast. She looked at me a little anxiously.
“How do you mean?”
“There are those of them who cannot see the noses on each other’s
faces.”
“Is that so?”
“It’s a fact. Some of them are idiots enough to believe that--that you
knew something about that scoundrel’s death.”
“I see.” Her face lightened as if she began to perceive my drift. “You
mean that they suspect me of having murdered him. That’s no news.”
“But I fear they go beyond suspicion.”
“Beyond suspicion? Do you mean that they can prove it?”
“Miss Moore! You are severe. I mean that--they may try to arrest you.”
“Arrest me! Arrest me!” She drew herself straight up, her small fists
clenched at her sides. “But they mustn’t arrest me. You mustn’t let
them.”
“I won’t.”
“How--how can you stop them?”
“I shall be only too glad to act as your guardian, if you care to try
a trip abroad until they perceive their own stupidity.”
“A trip abroad--with you.”
The suggestion which the words conveyed, as she pronounced them, had
not entered my thick skull. I was thunderstruck.
“Or--or I could stay behind; or come on by the next train.”
“I don’t see what good that would do me.”
“I’d take care that they didn’t lay their sacrilegious hands upon
you.”
“I don’t see how--if you weren’t there.”
I began to stamp about the room. I had forgotten that the fact of her
being a woman made a difference in all sorts of ways. The situation
was more complicated than I had allowed for.
“Miss Moore, I’m an idiot.”
“Yes?”
There was something in the way in which she laid emphasis on the note
of interrogation which robbed the word of its sting.
“But I’m not, in some respects, such an idiot as you might suppose.”
“Oh.”
This was said with a twinkle of laughter.
“Can you trust me?”
“With my life; with what is dearer.”
“Will you do as I tell you?”
“Implicitly.”
“Go upstairs, put your hat and coat on, and some things in a bag.”
“How many things? In what sized bag?”
“Enough to take you to Paris.”
“To Paris? Am I going to Paris? Oh, but I’m wanted at the theatre;
they’re clamouring for me.”
“Let them clamour. Will you be so kind as to do what I tell you?
Excuse me, Miss Moore, one moment! Do you mind my bringing a man in
here, and making him comfortable, till after we are gone?”
“Please explain.”
“Well, there’s a man in the street who, I believe, is watching the
house.”
“Is he going to try to arrest me? Has he a warrant in his pocket?”
“Nothing of the kind. Only he might try to follow us to see where we
went, and that wouldn’t be convenient.”
“Do you propose to hurt him?”
“Not a hair of his head! I promise you.”
“Are you going to try on him the effect of a little reasoning? You
certainly have, beyond other men, the persuasive manner. You might
induce him to see things in a proper light. If you think it necessary,
you can try.”
Her words reminded me of what old Morley had said. I thought the
sarcasm was a little hard. I winced.
“There is one other thing, Miss Moore. How many servants have you in
the house?”
“One at present. The cook is out.”
“Could you send that one out on an errand which would detain her, say,
an hour. We don’t want her to know that we left the house together--or
indeed anything.”
“You have an eye for details. I perceive that I’m entering on another
adventure. If you will take a stroll for a quarter of an hour, when
you return you will find her gone. I shall have my hat and coat on,
and some things in a bag.”
“Good. When you are ready, go out as softly as you can, without coming
in here, and without taking any notice of me at all. Leave your bag in
the passage; I’ll carry it. Go into the Fulham Road, and stroll
towards Walham Green. I’ll come to you as soon as I’m able.”
“You won’t hurt him?”
“I’ll not do him the slightest damage.”
I opened the door for her to leave the room. She passed upstairs; I
went out into the street. The man was still at the corner; he eyed me
intently as I passed. I paid no attention to him whatever. Strolling
leisurely, I crossed the Fulham Road, and, through some devious and
dirty by-streets, I gained the King’s Road. At an oilman’s shop I
purchased a dozen yards of stout clothes line. Looking at my watch, I
found that I had been absent nearly ten minutes. With the same
leisurely gait I retraced my steps. The man was still at his corner.
He was an out-size in policemen; all of five foot ten, well set up,
with a carriage which denoted muscle. Fortunately for my purpose, his
face did not point to a surplus of brains; he struck me as being as
stupid as I was. I marched straight up to him with an air of
brusqueness.
“You’re from the Yard. Why on earth didn’t you give me the tip when I
drove past you at first? You saw me staring at you hard enough. I’ve
been on a wild goose chase, all because of your stupidity; you shall
hear of it again!” He touched his hat. “I’ve just come from the court;
Inspector Symonds is detained; I’m on this job at present. Has anybody
come out of 22 since I did?”
“A young woman, sir.”
“A young woman. And you let her go?”
“It was only the servant.”
“Only the servant! Which way did she go.”
“She came out into the road here, and then got on to a Piccadilly
’bus. My instructions were to keep an eye on the young lady. I wasn’t
told anything about the servant.”
“Oh, weren’t you? Then a pretty mess you seem to be making. Come into
the house; I may want you. So keep your eyes and ears well open.”
I started off at a smart pace. He hesitated, then fell in at my side.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but do you mind telling me your name? I don’t
seem to remember your face.”
I strode on, unheeding.
“Now, in you come. And mind what I told you about keeping your eyes
and ears wide open.”
I pushed him through the gate. The lady’s wits had been on the alert;
she had left the door open.
“Hallo! the door’s open,” I cried. “That looks suspicious. I shouldn’t
be surprised if the bird had flown. Servant-girl you thought she was.
That’ll be a bit of all right for you. Come into this room.”
I led the way into the sitting-room. So soon as we were in, I began to
undo the packet of rope.
“Just look out of the window and see if that’s any one coming in.”
He seemed as if he could not quite make me out, or the whole
proceeding. But, after a moment’s delay, he did as he was told. He
went to the window. In buying the clothes line, I had tied a slip-knot
at one end, so as to form a rudimentary lasso. So soon as his back was
turned I had this over his head, tightening the knot: his arms were
pinioned to his sides. He struggled fiercely.
“It is a plant, is it?----if I didn’t think it was! So this is your
little game!”
“This is my little game; and, if you take my advice, my lad, you’ll
own you’re beaten. Because you are.”
He was. I ran the rope about him, pulling him off his feet with a
jerk. As he lay on the floor, I trussed him hand and foot. I have had
some experience in the handling of ropes, and can tie a knot or two. I
was prepared to guarantee that, unaided, he would never move again.
“What are you going to do to me?” he asked.
“Nothing, my good man. It’s surely more comfortable in here than out
in the street in such weather as this? The unfortunate part of the
business is that I am so anxious that you should not make a noise that
I’m afraid I shall have to take measures to keep you still.”
“You are not going to gag me?”
“I fear I must. But, to prove that I regret having to subject you to
inconvenience, I am going to slip two five-pound notes into the breast
pocket of your coat. When you’re untied you will be able to drink my
health with them.”
“Drink your health! My God, I will!”
“Just so. But not with so much strenuosity. Such language should not
be used.”
I had bought, at the same shop as the clothesline, some cotton
wadding. I thrust as large a piece of this into his mouth as it could
conveniently hold. Then, lifting him, I laid him carefully on the
floor in a corner of the room behind a couch. As the couch hid him,
and he could neither move nor utter a sound, it was possible that he
might remain there for some considerable time without his presence
being discovered.
I went out of the room. In the passage was a bag. Picking it up, I
passed out of the house. On the pavement, just outside the door, was
the lady. She was full of concern about the gentleman I had left
behind.
“Have you--have you hurt him?”
“Not in the least. I have simply tied him up, so as to prevent him
following us to see where we go.”
I did not think it was necessary to say anything about the gagging.
“Have you tied him very tight?”
“Not I.”
“Is he strong?”
“I never asked.”
“But you could see. How big is he?” I told her. We were moving towards
the Fulham Road. She repeated her little trick of drawing a hurried
breath. “I wish I were a strong man!”
“You are stronger than any man I ever knew.”
“How can you say such a thing? Am I as strong as you?”
I sighed--in earnest.
“Are you as strong as I?”
“You choose to talk in riddles. You know very well that in your hands
I should be like a baby. Where are you taking me?”
“I hardly know. I hope out of the shadow into the sunshine.”
“Suppose a policeman--see, there is one over the road--were to come up
now, and say I was his prisoner. What should you do?”
“I should explain that he was mistaken.”
“Explain!” She laughed. “But you can’t explain to every one, in the
same fashion, for ever.”
I was startled. Her question had a little startled me. To tell the
truth, I was wondering myself where I was taking her. The Paris boat
train did not start till nine. It was barely five. To stay in London
for another four hours would be to run a risk. By that time, too, a
watch might have been set upon the boat express.
We were walking towards the Brompton Road. I was just thinking of
calling a cab, being only restrained from doing so by the doubt as to
where I should tell him to drive us, when my attention was diverted by
an exclamation from the lady.
“Mr. Ferguson! Look! There’s Mr. Lawrence!”
I glanced in the direction she was pointing. In front, just far enough
off to cause the outlines to be a little obscured by the mist, was a
figure I seemed to recognise. I quickened my steps.
“Lawrence! Philip Lawrence!”
Although his back was turned to us, I could not but suspect that he
had seen us first. Because, scarcely had I spoken, than, darting into
the road, he sprang into a passing cab without troubling to stop it,
shouted some direction to the driver, which I could not catch, and in
an instant was away. To pursue and leave the lady there was out of the
question. I waited till she came up.
“Are you sure that it was Lawrence?” I inquired.
“Certain! I have only seen him once, but then under circumstances
which make it impossible that I ever could mistake him. There is a
portrait of the man upon my brain--life-size. Wherever and whenever I
see him I shall know that it is he.”
“It is odd that he should have run away.”
I was puzzled; not only by his flight, but by the rapidity with which
it had been performed.
“Yes, it is odd. What’s that?”
A note of fear was in her voice. She came closer to me. I saw that her
face had suddenly grown white. The hand which she had placed on my arm
was trembling.
Through the mist, out there in the Fulham Road, there came the sound
of a woman’s laughter. It was that curious laughter which I had heard
in Edwin Lawrence’s room--soft, low, musical; yet within it,
indefinable, yet not to be mistaken, a quality which was pregnant with
horrible suggestion.
At the sound, for some cause, my heart stood still.