I AM DRAWN FROM THE GRAVE.
You are to picture me, then, standing in that wind-swept corridor, open
at one end to the stars, and holding in my arms the sobbing form of
Debora Matchwick, and waiting the coming of Dr. Bardolph Just. I awaited
that coming with no trepidation, for now it seemed as though I stood an
equal match for the man, by reason of this night's work; for if someone
had shouted "Murder!" in the silence of the house, the thing could not
have been proclaimed more clearly. I saw now that in that trance into
which he had thrown her he had by some devilish art suggested to the
girl what she should do, and at what hour, and then had thrown open the
end of the corridor, that she might step out to her death.
Exactly how much she suspected herself, or how much she had had time to
grasp, since the moment when I had so roughly awakened her, I could not
tell; but she clung to me, and begged me incoherently not to let her go,
and not to let the man come near her. Feeling that the thing must be met
bravely, I got my arm about her, and advanced with her down the corridor
to meet the doctor.
He came with a light held above his head; he was panting from excitement
and hurry. I know that he expected to run to the end of that corridor,
and to look out, and to see what should have lain far below him; but he
came upon us advancing towards him instead, and he stopped dead and
lowered his light.
"What's the matter?" he stammered.
"You should know that best," I answered him boldly. "Death might have
been the matter. With your leave, I'll take this lady to her room."
He stood back against the wall, and watched us as we went past him. His
brows were drawn down, and his eyes were glittering, and the faint white
line of his teeth showed between his lips. In that attitude he remained,
like some figure turned to stone, while I drew the girl along, and down
the stairs; I had to ask her the way to her room, for, of course, I did
not know it. Coming to it at last, I took her cold hands in mine and
held them for a moment, and smiled as cheerfully as I could.
"This is not the time for explanations," I said; "leave all that till
the morning. Go to bed, and try not to remember anything that has
happened; and lock your door."
I heard the key turn in the lock before I came away; not till then did I
retrace my steps back to the corridor. I was scarcely surprised to find
the man standing almost in the same attitude--only now his head had
lowered a little, and he seemed to be musing. Without moving he looked
up at me, and a queer sort of grin spread over his features.
"Smart man!" he whispered, with a sneer. "How did it happen? How much do
you know?"
"More than you would have me know?" I replied. "Would it not be well to
fasten up that door again?" I jerked my head in the direction of the end
of the corridor.
Without a word he handed the lamp to me, and started towards the
opening. He went so quickly that I thought for the moment he meant to
hurl himself upon that death he had intended for the girl; but he
stopped at the end, and seemed to be fumbling with the doors.
By that time I had reached him, and, with the aid of the lamp, I could
see that there were two heavy doors opening inwards and fastened with a
great bar that dropped across them, and with bolts at the top and at the
bottom. Quite as though he had forgotten the incidents of the night, he
turned to me, and gave an explanation of the doors.
"There used to be an iron staircase against the wall of the house,
leading down from here at one time," he said. "It was the whim of some
former owner. I found these doors by accident."
"And opened them with a purpose," I reminded him.
He said nothing in reply. Having secured the doors, he motioned to me to
go in front, which I did, carrying the light, and in that order we came
to my room. I would have handed him the lamp at the door, but he
motioned to me to go in, and, following himself, closed the door. I set
down the lamp, and waited for what he had to say. He was a long time
coming to it; he wandered about the room for a time, stopping now and
then, with his back to me, and with his finger tracing out the pattern
of the wall paper. When at last he spoke he was still tracing that
pattern, and he did not look round.
"You have done me a service to-night, and one I'm not likely to forget,"
he said.
"A service?" I asked in amazement. "I should scarcely have thought you'd
call it that."
"I do--I do!" he exclaimed, swinging round upon me suddenly. "I meant to
kill her, and you've saved me from that. I thank my God for it!"
"I don't believe you," I said doggedly. "You planned the thing too well
for that."
"I did not plan it, except by the opening of the doors," he said. "I
knew that she walked in her sleep sometimes, and I thought----"
"You lie!" I exclaimed fiercely. "I watched you, and heard you while you
suggested to her that she should walk in this eastern corridor at
midnight, and should come to the end wall. And you knew that there would
be no wall there."
He looked at me in a bewildered fashion for what seemed a long time;
then he nodded slowly twice. "So you heard that, did you? Well, I
suppose there's nothing for it but confession. I did plan the thing; it
was by a method you don't understand--what we call hypnotic suggestion.
That means that you tell a person that they are to do a certain thing at
a certain hour, and when that hour arrives they must inevitably set
about to do it."
"Why did you want to kill her?"
"Why do we always desire to crush the thing that we can't possess?" he
snapped back at me. "Because I love her--because I would sell my
immortal soul--if I have one--to bend her or break her to my will. You
are a sleepy dolt, understanding nothing of passions such as sway
stronger men; you are not likely to understand this. But she maddens me
when she sticks that pretty chin of hers in the air, and I see the
contempt flash out of her eyes. If you saw so much, you probably saw the
beginning of it, when she said she would have nothing further to do with
me, and threatened to get away out of the house. Then the thought came
over me that I would put an end to it all; and I made that suggestion to
her that she should walk here to-night; and I came first, and opened the
old doors. I thank God you saved her!"
He suddenly dropped his head in his hands and groaned aloud; and my
heart melted a little with pity for him. I guessed something of what a
stormy nature was hidden in the man; and I, who thought I had read
something of love in her eyes for me, could afford to pity the man to
whose pleadings she turned a deaf ear. Fool that I was, I did not
realise the cunning of the creature who stood with hidden face before
me; I did not understand that this was but a bit of play-acting, to put
me off my guard. I was to learn all that later.
"Do you think you'll help your case by such a business as this of
to-night?" I asked. "It's a poor way to make love, to strive to kill the
woman."
"She won't know anything about it; she won't guess," he exclaimed
eagerly, looking up at me. "She does not know that I suggested to her
what to do; she will only wonder at finding the doors open. I can give
some explanation of that, if necessary."
"And what will you do now?" I asked him, as I lighted my own lamp and
put his into his hand.
"Give up the game," he replied, with a faint smile. "This has taught me
a lesson to-night; it has shown me how near the best of us may come to a
crime. I am sincere in that; I thank you from the bottom of my heart for
what you've done. The lover in me is gone; henceforth I'm her guardian
and the friend of her dead father. There's my hand on it!"
I looked into his eyes, and once again I believed him; I began to feel
that I had misjudged the man. True, his hand was cold enough in my
grasp, but I paid no heed to that; I seemed to see only before me a
changed and humbled man. He wished me "Good-night!" with much
cordiality, and went off to his own room. For my part, I felt something
of a missionary, and congratulated myself upon the night's work.
I had made up my mind that I would see Debora as early as possible on
the following morning. I was anxious to know what impression that
startling occurrence of the previous night had made upon her. I wanted
to see her before there was any possibility of Bardolph Just confronting
her; and in that I was successful.
It was a very fine morning, and I supposed that I should find her in the
grounds. I felt that I might reasonably expect that she would make her
way to that summer-house in which we had met and talked before; and in
that also I was right. Quite early, before breakfast was announced, I
came upon her in the morning sunlight; and for a long time, as it
seemed, we held hands without a word.
"You slept well?" I asked her.
She nodded brightly. "Better than I should have done, I suppose," she
said, with a smile; "but then, I was sure of my friend--certain that no
harm could come to me. How much have you to tell me of last night?"
"Nothing," I said, shaking my head. "There is nothing that you need be
told, now that everything is ended. For the future you have to trust to
me--just as you trusted last night. You said I was your friend; and I am
going to look after you."
"That makes me very happy. By the way, what am I to call you?" she asked
artlessly.
I felt the colour mounting in my cheeks. "You know my name," I said.
"Yes--John," she replied, and we both laughed.
Now this is, of course, all very shameful, and I had no right to be
standing there, holding her hands, and letting her talk to me in that
fashion; but I did not remember then what I was, or from what I had
come. Indeed, it is more than possible that if I had remembered I should
scarcely have changed my attitude, for but little joy had ever come
into my life. I merely set this down here, in order to record the fact
that, save for one lamentable lapse, we were "John" and "Debora" to each
other from that day forward.
But I had some instructions to give her for her own safety. She listened
attentively while I gave them.
"You had better not refer to last night at all," I said. "Let the doctor
imagine that you have forgotten about it, or at least have believed that
it was some ugly dream. Meet him as usual--show him, if anything, a
little more kindness than you have done."
"I can't do that," she said hastily.
"You must; it is imperative," I urged. "I can tell you this, at least: I
have his promise that he will not molest you again, and that he will be
for the future simply your guardian, and nothing else."
"He said that?" she asked in astonishment.
"Yes, and I believe he means it," I answered steadily.
"I don't believe it, John; it's a trick," she said, shaking her head.
"I've seen too much of him; I know him too well. He is trying to throw
you off the scent. Don't you understand how helpless we both are? You
tell me that you are in his power, because he knows something about your
past life: how can you fight against him, or help me?"
"I can, and I will," I assured her. "And you can help, by being
discreet, and by waiting until we have an opportunity to do something in
concert."
She promised faithfully that she would do that, and she left me, with a
smile and a wave of the hand. I followed her slowly to the house, and
found the doctor in his usual place at the breakfast table, talking
quietly to her. The woman Leach was behind him, as usual.
It became obvious, in a minute or two, that Bardolph Just was anxious to
find out how much she remembered, or how much she understood, of the
events of the previous night; he had already begun to question Debora
cautiously. He appeared to be in a genial mood, and yet in a softened
mood; he gave me a smile as I took my place.
"So you slept well?" said Bardolph Just to the girl, as he leaned
towards her. "Not disturbed by anything?"
She shook her head, and looked at him with raised eyebrows of
perplexity; truly I felt that she had learnt her lesson well. "What
should disturb me?"
"Nothing, nothing!" he replied, evidently at a loss. "Only I thought
that there was some noise in the house last night; I almost went out to
investigate. But, of course, if you heard nothing----"
It happened that at that moment I glanced up over his head, and I saw
the woman behind him turn a swift glance out of those dark eyes of hers
at the girl; it was but a momentary thing, and then her eyes were cast
down in the usual humble fashion; but in that instant I had read
something that I had not understood before. I read not only hatred of
the girl, and defiance of her; I saw, as clearly as though it had been
written, that she knew of the events of the night before, and that she
knew that the girl was not speaking the truth. I wondered exactly what
had happened, or in what way she had gained her knowledge: I was to
learn that swiftly enough.
Somewhat later in the forenoon, I was practically alone in the house. I
knew that Debora had gone off into the grounds with a book, and I did
not care to disturb her. Bardolph Just had gone down into London on
business. I was lounging at my full length in an easy chair in the
dining-room, smoking, and reading the newspaper, when the door opened
softly, and Martha Leach came in. I did not turn my head, but I saw her
moving round the room in a large mirror hanging on the wall opposite my
chair. Indeed, our eyes met in that mirror, before they met elsewhere.
She stopped, and, somewhat to my surprise, spoke.
"You are a very brave man," she said, with a quick glance at the long
windows, as though fearing interruption. "And a strong man, too."
"Who told you that?" I asked, without shifting my position.
"No one tells me anything, and I don't need to be told," she answered.
"I find out things for myself; I watch, and discover."
I seemed to have a dim inkling of what was coming, but I think my face
betrayed nothing. I lowered the newspaper to my knee, and went on
smoking, and watching her in the mirror.
"I saw you last night in the eastern corridor; I saw you catch that girl
just in time," she went on, in the same breathless sort of whisper. "A
moment later, and that would have been death."
"You seem to know a great deal about it," I answered. "Perhaps you can
tell me something else."
She laughed insolently, and shrugged her shoulders. I kept my eyes upon
her in the mirror. "Anything you like," she replied.
"Then tell me how you could see anything that happened in the eastern
corridor last night," was my answer.
"I was in the grounds--I had been there a long time," she whispered, her
eyes growing more excited. "I did not know about the door; I only knew
that something was going to happen, because the doctor kept moving about
all the evening. I watched him go out of his room--I mean that I saw the
light disappear, and knew that he had not put it out; I saw it go
across the windows as he moved. I thought he was going to your room, and
so I went round there; and then I saw your light go out. And then, as by
a miracle, I saw that wall open, and the doctor stood there, like a
spirit. I saw him before the light was puffed out. Then I waited to see
what would happen."
"Well, I hope you were satisfied with what you saw?" I said carelessly.
She snapped her fingers quickly, and laughed. "Bah! you think you will
put me off; you think I don't understand," she said. "I tell you I saw
you come to that door and look out; I saw you in the starlight. And then
I saw her come; heard the shriek; saw you catch her in your arms. After
that, the fastening of the door by the doctor, while you held the lamp.
And yet this morning"--her voice changed to a tone of bitter
irony--"this morning, if you please, no one knows anything about it, and
everyone has slept well. Bah!"
She snapped her fingers again, and it seemed almost as if she waited to
know what I should say. But I realised that this woman was an intimate
of the doctor; and it was my business, then, to fear everyone in that
house, save Debora. So I went on smoking, and, still without turning my
head, talked to the woman I saw in the mirror.
"Have you anything else to say?" I asked calmly.
"Oh! a great deal," she flashed back at me, forgetting the cautious
voice in which she had spoken. "I want, first of all, to know who you
are, and how you come to be in this house so mysteriously and so
suddenly; for who saw you arrive? That I shall discover some day for
myself. I discover everything in time. And I want to tell you
something."
She moved a step nearer to my chair, and now I turned my head and looked
into her eyes.
"He did not succeed last night; but perhaps the next time he will not
fail. So surely as I stand here, so surely do I know that he will kill
her." She nodded her head with incredible swiftness two or three times,
and drew back from me, with her lips tightly pursed.
I lost control of myself in the sudden shock of her words; I sprang to
my feet. "What do you mean?" I asked in horror. "What do you know?"
"Only what I have said," she mocked at me, as she made for the door. "I
would advise you, Mr. Mysterious, to look well after this girl you
love--this frail thing of prettiness. For the doctor will surely kill
her!" Then she was gone, and I was left staring helplessly at the closed
door.
So much had that thought been in my own mind that her words seemed but
an echo. I thought I saw that this man, Bardolph Just, cheated of his
purpose in securing the girl, had made up his mind to get rid of
her--out of some insane jealousy that prompted him not to allow her to
go to the arms of another man. Yet, when I came to think over the
problem, it occurred to me that if, as he had faintly suggested, he
wanted control of her fortune, this would be but the act of a madman.
The only possibility was that the fortune might in some way be secured
by him without her.
But now that the matter had been confirmed in this startling fashion I
knew that it was imperative that I should keep a stricter watch than
ever upon Debora. For suddenly it seemed to me that my absurd belief in
the man was no longer justified. I saw that the doctor had merely
adopted that attitude of penitence, the better to put me off my guard.
Yet, even while I promised myself that I would do valiant things, I
could only remember my own helplessness, in being entirely dependent
upon the very man against whom I wished to arm myself. I had in my
pocket but a shilling or two, which he had given me for my journey down
into London--that journey which I had never taken.
As for any future that might once have seemed bright before me--what
future had I? I was practically in hiding under another name, and I had
no resources save those I might derive from one who knew my secret, and
was, in a great sense, my enemy. I was in love--surely more hopelessly
than mortal man had ever been before; and I was liable at any moment to
be betrayed by the man Harvey Scoffold, who had penetrated my story.
Altogether, as I came to review the position, I could have heartily
wished myself back in my prison again, save for one element in the
business. That element was Debora Matchwick, and I knew that in the
strange game I was playing Fate had destined me to fight on her side, in
a matter of life and death.
Bardolph Just returned early in the afternoon, and went straight to his
study. Debora I had seen for an instant as she crossed the hall; she
gave me a quick smile, and that was all. There seemed to be brooding
over the whole house an atmosphere of expectancy--quite as though we
waited for something that was to happen, and faced it each in his or her
particular way. I found myself listening for the doctor's step in the
house, while I felt equally certain that for his part he was wondering
what move I should take, and was calmly preparing to meet such a move,
whatever it might be.
The long day drew to a close, and presently the harsh bell clanged
through the house as a summons to dinner. I happened to be in my room at
the time, and as I stepped out of it to go down the stairs, I saw that
the doctor was waiting at the head of the stairs, and was peering over
into the hall below. He turned his head when he heard my step behind
him, and spoke in a whisper. He spoke as though we were on the
friendliest terms, and almost as if there were some secret understanding
between us. As I stepped up to him he put his hand on my shoulder, and,
laughable as it may seem, I felt a little thrill of gratitude and
tenderness for the man run through me--such was the fascination of him.
All my suspicions of him seemed to go to the wind.
"I thought I ought to prepare you, John, in case you didn't know," he
whispered. "Two bits of news--Harvey Scoffold has come to dinner, which
may mean mischief; and Capper's missing."
He imparted that last scrap of information with something so like a
chuckle that I looked at him quickly, with a new suspicion in my mind.
Oddly enough, he must have guessed what I meant, for he shook his head
and grinned.
"Oh, nothing to do with me, I assure you," he said. "Only he has gone
off without a word to anyone--and I don't quite like it. Of course, I'm
relieved to know that he has gone; the old fool was like a ghost
wandering about the place. But still, I'd like to know where he is."
"I don't see that it matters very much," I replied. "But what makes you
think that Scoffold may mean mischief?"
Still keeping his hand on my shoulder, he turned me about, and began to
walk with me down the stairs. "Because it's a long time since he has
visited me until the other night, and now he comes again. You see, he
knows our story, and he's utterly unscrupulous. More than that, he's
always in want of money."
"I'll try what personal violence will do, if he tries any tricks with
me," I muttered savagely. And once again I heard the doctor chuckle.
Harvey Scoffold was in the dining-room when we entered, and was talking
to Debora. He was flourishing about in his big, bullying way, with his
hands thrust in his pockets, and his feet wide apart. He turned round to
greet us at once. I noticed that he looked sharply from the doctor to
me, and back again, as though he suspected we had been discussing him;
but the next moment he gripped our hands warmly, and began to pour out
apologies.
"I hope you don't mind a lonely man coming in, and taking advantage of
your hospitality in this fashion," he began to the doctor. "But it
suddenly occurred to me that I might run over to see you--and I acted on
the impulse of a moment."
"Delighted, I'm sure," murmured Bardolph Just. Yet he scarcely looked
delighted. "You know you're always welcome, Harvey."
"Thanks--a thousand thanks!" exclaimed the big man. "You fellows
interested me so much the other night while we smoked our cigars, that I
rather wanted to have that little discussion out with you. You don't
mind?"
We were seated at the table by this time, and I saw the doctor look up
quickly at him, with something of a scowl on his face. "I mind very
much," he said sharply. "Drop it."
A little startled, Harvey Scoffold sat upright, looking at him for a
moment; then he nodded slowly. "Very good--then the subject is dropped,"
he said. "It would not have been mentioned again by me, but that I
thought I might be of some assistance in the matter."
There was no reply to that, and we presently drifted into other topics
of conversation. But after a time it seemed as though Harvey Scoffold,
in sheer venom, must get back to that subject, if only by a side door,
for he presently asked a question casually that bore straight upon it.
"By the way, that quaint old servant, Capper--is he any better?"
The doctor slowly finished the wine he was drinking, and set the glass
down, and wiped his lips; then, without looking at his questioner, he
answered--
"Capper is gone!" he said.
Two persons at the table echoed that last word together--Harvey Scoffold
and Debora exclaimed, as in one voice, "Gone!"
"Having had enough of our society, the man has taken himself off as
mysteriously as he came," went on the doctor calmly. "I never understood
his coming; still less do I understand his going, although I confess
that the latter movement is the more reasonable. Perhaps he has
remembered where his master is, and has gone to join him."
I stole a glance at the startled face of the girl. She seemed strangely
excited. Harvey Scoffold, evidently at a loss for conversation, hummed
the mere shred of an air between his lips, and looked at the ceiling.
The doctor's face I could not see, because he was behind the lamp. I
longed for the dinner to pass, because I wanted to get at my man, and
find out just what game was afoot; I was in a mood to choke whatever
news he had out of him, if necessary.
Debora rose at last, and went out of the room. No sooner was the door
closed than the doctor shifted his chair a little, so as to bring him
clear of the lamp, and brought a fist down on the table with a bang.
"Now, Scoffold," he said violently, "what's the move?"
"Yes, what's the move?" I echoed, leaning towards the man also.
He glanced from one to the other of us with a look of smiling innocence
on his face. "The move?" he said. "I'm afraid I don't understand. In the
name of all that's marvellous, can't a man come to dinner with friends
without being asked what the move is?"
"You're not the man to do anything without a purpose," cried Bardolph
Just. "You discovered something the last time you were here, and you
evidently want to discover something else. Let me warn you----"
"Stop! stop!" broke in Harvey Scoffold, raising his hands protestingly.
"I need no threats and no warnings, because there is nothing to threaten
about, nor to warn about. My hands are clean, and I trust they may
remain so. If I referred to the matter at all to-night, it was simply
because I was naturally very deeply interested in the story I heard, and
I wanted to know what further developments there might be, that is all."
"Well, there are no further developments," growled the doctor. "I doubt
if there will be any further developments."
"I'm delighted to hear it, and I'm only worried about one thing--that's
the man Capper. He may make mischief, and he may get himself into
trouble--poor old fellow!--wandering about the world friendless. I'm
quite sorry for Capper."
The doctor excused himself almost immediately, and went to his study. To
my surprise, Scoffold linked his arm in mine, and drew me with him
towards the door of the house. "It's a fine night, and a walk will do
you good," he said. "Walk back with me to my place."
"That's rather too far," I said, for I remembered that he had chambers
in the West-end of London.
"I've taken another lodging," he said, without looking at me. "It's
about a mile from here--or perhaps a little more--in a sort of rural
cottage, where I can smell the roses when I wake in the morning. Cheap
and wholesome, and all that sort of thing. Come along."
It was still quite early, and I reflected that no harm was likely to
come to the girl in the short time I should be away. Besides, in a
fashion, this man drew me to him, by reason of the fact that I was
afraid of him, and of what he might do or say. So we went out of the
house together, and traversed the dark grounds, and so came arm-in-arm
into the open road. Smoking our cigars like two gentlemen at ease, we
strolled along under the stars.
I found that he had taken a lodging in a quaint little cottage, with a
long garden in front of it, in a queer little back street in Highgate--I
should scarcely have believed that such a place existed in what was
really London. He fitted his key into the door, and we went into a tiny
passage and up some stairs. As we reached the top of the stairs, a
clean-looking old woman came out of the room below, and called to him.
"Your servant is waiting up for you, sir," she said.
"Thank you very much indeed," replied Harvey Scoffold blandly, and the
woman retired.
I found myself wondering a little what sort of servant he had brought to
such a place as this. I followed him into a little clean sitting-room,
with two doors opening out of it into what were evidently bedrooms.
At one side of the room a little table was set out with decanters, and
glasses, and syphons: he proceeded to mix for himself and for me.
Looking about him in search of something which he could not find, he
struck his hand on a little bell, and I saw one of the doors open, and
someone come in. I stared with a dropping jaw when I saw that the
mysterious servant who now came in smiling was Capper!
Capper did not look at me. He received his instructions, and went out of
the room in search of what was wanted. He came noiselessly back in a
moment or two, and during his absence no word was spoken. When the door
was finally closed again, I spoke in a tone I vainly endeavoured to
control.
"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded.
"Of what?" asked Harvey Scoffold innocently. "Oh! you mean Capper?
Purely an act of charity, my dear boy. I wouldn't have wished the old
man to starve."
"You're lying," I said hotly. "You asked all those questions to-night
during dinner, knowing well that the old man was here. Come, what's the
motive?"
He took a long drink and set down his glass with a sigh of satisfaction.
"The motive is this," he said, with a curious grin stealing over his
features. "While I wish no direct harm to you, my dear boy, I always
like to be prepared for anything that may happen. I am in possession of
your story--I know practically all that I want to know. But in the
fulness of time that story must change and move; something's got to
happen to you at some time or other. Now this man Capper--this creature
of the lost memory--may be a mere pawn in the game, or he may be
something more. Who shall say what is locked away in that numbed brain
of his?--who shall say when or under what circumstances he may wake up?
I shall be curious to know what he will say when he wakes--curious to
understand what the shock was that drove him into his present
condition."
"Why should you concern yourself about the matter at all?" I demanded.
"Because I wish to concern myself on your account, my dear fellow," he
said blandly. "Really you ought to be very much obliged to me. Bardolph
Just would have sent the man packing, or would have let him drift out
into the world, with the possibility that at some time or other Capper
would wake up and tell his story, and demand sanely to know where his
master was. Here I have him safely, and if he blurts out the story at
all--always supposing that he has one to blurt out--he can only tell it
to a friend. Don't be hasty, and don't misjudge people."
Nevertheless, I did not like it. I knew that I was in the power of this
man Scoffold, and I saw, in the line of conduct he was taking, so many
steps towards using me for his own ends. The coming to dinner, the
taking of this lodging so near to where I lived, the securing of the man
Capper. I felt that he was drawing a net about me, out of which I might
not be able to struggle.
We sat talking for a long time, and gradually, with his plausible
tongue, he persuaded me that he was my friend, and that he meant to help
me. He suspected the doctor, he told me, and his real motive in coming
to that lodging was to be near me in case of necessity.
"Trust me," he said, "and I will stand your friend. More than that, I
want to show you now that my help shall be of a practical nature. I take
it that you have no money; that you are dependent upon Bardolph Just for
everything?" As I was silent, he nodded, and went on, "Just as I
thought. Well, we'll remedy that; you must let me lend you a little
money."
I protested feebly for a time, but he was insistent, and at last I
yielded. I took only a few shillings, because I really needed them, and
I did not know at what moment I might be thrown on my own resources, and
left to face the world once more. Then, with something amounting to
friendliness, I left Harvey Scoffold at the little gate in the fence, at
the end of the long garden which led to the cottage, and took my way
back towards the doctor's house.
It was very late, and very dark. I was going along at a swinging pace,
when I saw a man rise from beside the road and come hobbling towards me,
pleading volubly as he came. Having nothing for beggars, I was pressing
on, while he jogged along beside me, about a foot in my rear, still
pleading.
"S'welp me, guv'nor, yer might spare a tanner to 'elp a pore bloke to a
night's lodging. I've bin trampin' it all day, an' I've scarcely 'ad a
mouthful of food; it wouldn't 'urt yer to give me a tanner. I wouldn't
be like this 'ere if I 'adn't bin unfort'nit; but wot's a pore bloke to
do wot's been in jail--an' gits chivied abaht----"
I stopped and wheeled round on him. "You say you've been in prison?" I
asked. "What prison was it?"
"Pent'ouse," he replied; and on that I thrust the money I had ready in
my hand into his, and turned abruptly and made off.
But, as ill-luck would have it, we had been standing squarely under a
lamp, and as I turned round I saw the man give a start of surprise. I
was in a mood to run, knowing well that I could out-distance him easily,
but as I went striding away, I heard him come pounding after me, and
heard him shouting something. The mischief was done; there was nothing
for it but to meet him.
So I turned back slowly and then stood still, and waited for him.