AN APPOINTMENT WITH DEATH.
It will readily be understood that, by the movements of the various
players in the game in which, in a sense, I was merely a pawn, I had
been placed in such a position that I was to an extent no longer master
of my own actions. I had been compelled, by the turn of events, to place
Debora in the hands of my uncle, and I knew that at any moment now news
might come from Green Barn that the girl was gone. I marvelled that that
news had not arrived ere this.
Upon that latter point the only conjecture I could arrive at was that
the woman Martha Leach had not yet dared to send her news to Bardolph
Just, and in that act of cowardice she would probably be supported by
Harvey Scoffold. Moreover, I knew that the doctor was too fully occupied
with his own fears concerning the man Capper to give much attention to
anything else.
Nor, on the other hand, did I feel that I had advanced matters as
rapidly as I could have wished. True, I had got Debora out of the hands
of the doctor and Harvey Scoffold; true again, I had hidden her in the
house of Uncle Zabdiel. But there the matter stood, and I was relying,
in a sense, solely on the help of one whom every instinct taught me to
distrust: I mean, of course, Zabdiel Blowfield. Moreover, I was no
further advanced in regard to any future status on my own account. I had
no prospect of making my way in the world, or of doing anything to help
the girl I loved. It seemed as though I stood in the midst of a great
tangle, twisting this way and that in my efforts to free myself, and
getting more hopelessly involved with each movement.
In my doubts and perplexities I turned naturally to Debora; I may be
said to have haunted that house wherein she lived. Uncle Zabdiel
appeared to be very friendly, and for two days I came and went as I
liked, seeing Debora often. And even in that short time I came to see
that the deadly old house was having its effect upon the girl, just as
it had upon every one that came within its walls; she began to droop,
and to wear a frightened look, and not all my reassurances would bring
any brightness into her eyes.
"I'm afraid of the place," she whispered the second day, clinging to me.
"That tall boy creeps about like a ghost----"
"And looks like one," I broke in with a laugh. "He's the best fellow in
the world, is Andrew Ferkoe; you've nothing to fear from him."
"And Mr. Blowfield: he looks at me so strangely, and is altogether so
queer," went on Debora. "Last night he begged me to sit up with him in
his study until quite late--kept on asking me if I didn't hear this
noise and that, and was I sure that nothing stirred in the shadows in
the corner? I felt at last as if I should go mad if I wasn't allowed to
scream."
"My darling girl, it won't be very long now before I'm able to take you
away," I said, more hopefully than I felt. "My uncle's a good fellow, in
his way, but he has lived a lonely life so long that he's not like other
men. Have a little more patience, Debora dear; the sun will shine upon
us both before long, and we shall come out of the shadows."
"But there is something else," she said. "I was in my room last night,
at the top of the house here, sitting in the dark, thinking. Everything
was very silent; it was as if all the world lay asleep. And then I saw a
curious thing--something that frightened me."
"What was it?" I asked quickly.
"On the other side of the road facing the house is a long wall," she
began in a whisper, "and just outside the gate, as you know, is a
lamp-post. From where I sat in my window I could see that the wall was
lit up, and across it again and again, while I watched for more than an
hour, went two shadows."
"What sort of shadows?" I asked, as lightly as I could; yet I'll own I
was startled.
"Shadows of men," she replied. "It was evident that they were walking up
and down in the road, watching the house. The shadows were curious,
because one was a very big one, walking stiffly, while the other was
small, and seemed to creep along behind the first. And I know whose the
shadows were--at least, I know one of them."
"How do you know?" I asked.
"I know the one man was Dr. Just," she answered me confidently, with a
little quick nod.
"My dearest girl, how could you possibly know that?" I asked.
"Because the man walked with an easy stride, and yet his shadow showed
only one arm swinging," she said. "Don't you see what I mean? The other
arm was fastened to him in some way, held close against him."
I whistled softly, and looked into her eyes. "I see," I said; "that
would be the sling. Now, what in the world has brought him here?"
"He's come to find you," said Debora quickly. "He will have heard from
Green Barn that I am gone, and that you are gone; he will guess that if
he finds you he may find me. The reason for his waiting outside would be
that he might intercept you going in or coming out."
"There's something in that," I admitted. "However, of one thing I am
certain in my own mind. Uncle Zabdiel won't give you up, nor will he
admit the man into the house if he can avoid it. I'm not taking any
stand by Uncle Zabdiel's integrity," I added. "I am only certain that he
has a wholesome dread of me, and will not offend me. Rest easy; nothing
will happen to you, my darling."
Just before my departure I was met by my uncle at the door of his study.
He mysteriously beckoned me in, and closed the door. Then, something to
my surprise, he buttonholed me, and pulled me further into the room, and
stared up into my face with a pathetic expression of entreaty in his
eyes.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"My dear boy--my only nephew--I want you to believe that I'm being
honest with you as far as I can; I don't want you to judge me hastily,"
he began. "People get such wrong notions in their heads, and you might
hear something that would bring you rushing back here, and would leave
me no time for explanation. Will you believe what I'm going to tell
you?"
He was fumbling me all over. I saw that he had been troubled by
something, and that his dread of me had been strongly revived. I was
playing for too great a stake then to make the blunder of being smooth
with him. I frowned and folded my arms, and looked down at him sternly.
"Come, out with it!" I said.
"There, now you're beginning to lose your temper before ever I've begun
to say a word," he said, backing away from me. "Do be reasonable!"
"I don't know what the word is yet," I answered him. "Let's hear it."
"Well, to put it briefly, that woman Leach has been here." He blurted
out the words, and stood looking at me as though wondering how I should
take the news.
"Well, what then?" I asked him gravely. "What did you do?"
"Everything you would have wished me to do," he replied quickly. "I told
her nothing; I sent her away again."
"Did she enquire about me, or about Debora?" I asked.
"About you first, and then about Debora," he whispered. "But, oh, I put
her off the scent. I was sharp with her. I asked what sort of man she
took me to be, to admit any minx to my house. And she went away, knowing
nothing."
"That's good, and I'm very grateful to you," I assured him, now feeling
that I could give him all my confidence. "They'll leave no stone
unturned to get hold of the girl."
"They?" He looked at me questioningly.
"Yes, the woman as well as her master. I have just heard that Dr. Just
has been seen hanging about outside the house late last night, with
another man."
I saw his face blanch, I saw him moisten his lips with his tongue and
clutch with one feeble hand at the back of his chair. I took no
particular notice of that, although long after I wished I had done; I
knew how easily startled he was.
"You say that two men--two men watched this house last night, very
late?" he muttered.
"Yes," I answered carelessly. "And one of them at least--this Bardolph
Just--will stick at nothing to get what he wants. He's of the sort that
snaps his fingers at a small matter of death."
My Uncle Zabdiel twisted the chair round with a nervous movement, and
sank into it. I saw that he was trembling from head to foot. He seemed
to be brooding heavily upon something. Looking at him, I caught his eyes
more than once wandering covertly in my direction.
"And you think that he would do anything to get hold of this girl?" he
asked.
"There is not only the girl to be considered by him, but the very large
fortune which belongs to her, and which he also wishes to get hold of. I
tell you he will stick at nothing," I assured him earnestly.
"He will stick at nothing!" he echoed, drawing a deep breath.
"By the way, Uncle Zabdiel, have you been troubled with that dream of
yours again?" I asked carelessly.
To my surprise he started to his feet with what was almost a cry. "No,
no! why should I dream that again?" he stammered, staring at me.
"Haven't I tried to forget it--haven't I persuaded myself that I had
forgotten it. Oh, dear God! that these things should be sent to trouble
a poor old man who has done his best always for everybody!" he moaned.
"There, there--go away; leave me alone! I want time to think--or rather
time not to think."
I went away and left him, closing the door after me. Just as I reached
the hall door I came upon that tall youth, Andrew Ferkoe. He grinned
amiably. A sudden thought occurring to me, I drew him aside, and
whispered to him--
"Look here," I said, "I believe you're a friend of mine, aren't you?"
"Rather!" he said. "You're so wonderful; you've seen such things, and
done such things."
"Never mind about that," I said hastily. "I want you to promise to come
to me, if you think Miss Matchwick is in any danger, or if you think
anyone is plotting against her. See, here is my address"--I scribbled
it on a scrap of paper and thrust it into his hands--"and I shall rely
upon you to be faithful, to her as well as to me. Will you?"
He seemed quite elated at his commission. "Do you really trust me?" he
asked gleefully. "I'd do anything for you, and for her. I feel somehow
that I'm getting braver and stronger. I shan't put up much longer with
old Blowfield's bullying. I feel sometimes when I look at him that I
could do murder!"
I laughed as I went out of the house. The idea of this weak-kneed, lanky
youth, of all others, "doing murder" seemed too ridiculous. I went on my
way feeling pretty well satisfied with the turn of events, and firmly
convinced that the very fears under which Uncle Zabdiel laboured were
the greatest safeguard Debora and I could have. Moreover, I had gained
one other friend in that strange house, and that was Andrew Ferkoe.
My lodging was in a little house not very far, as you may have guessed,
from that house belonging to Uncle Zabdiel in which Debora had so
opportunely found shelter. On this particular evening I was in no hurry
to retire to the one little room I had rented. On a sudden impulse I
made up my mind that I would linger a little while in the neighbourhood,
and would see, if possible, for myself whether or not those two shadows
on the wall really belonged to the doctor and to William Capper. So I
took up my station not very far from the house, but in a position from
which I could observe it easily; and there I waited.
I will not describe my long wait, nor the shadows I saw, which might
have been the shadows of the doctor and Capper, but which were not. I
was disappointed fifty times at least, felt my heart jump as many times
when two men, or even one man, came anywhere in my direction, or
happened by the merest chance to glance towards that house. I had not
fully made up my mind what to do should either man put in an appearance,
and indeed I was saved the trouble of putting into execution any plan I
might have evolved, by reason of the fact that no one I knew came near
the house.
Once, it is true, from where I watched, I saw an upper window open, and
the head of Uncle Zabdiel, like some extremely ugly gargoyle, obtrude
itself into the night. I guessed, with an inward chuckle, that he might
be looking for those shadows for which I also was on the watch. But soon
afterwards that window was closed, and the house was wrapped in silence
and darkness. I kept my vigil until something towards three in the
morning, and then went off to my lodging. In five minutes I was
undressed and in bed; the rest was a dreamless sleep.
Lest I should be watched, I determined that I would not go near Zabdiel
Blowfield's house in daylight, or without taking due precautions. I
thought it possible that the woman Martha Leach might make a further
attempt, for the sake of her master, to discover something about me or
about Debora. I determined that I would not play into their hands. I
remembered what Bardolph Just had said about going abroad; I had great
hopes that he might carry that into effect, and so rid us all of his
presence. Perhaps in a saner moment I reflected that he was scarcely the
type of man to give up the game so lightly; but then when one is in love
one is usually optimistic. However, there was nothing for it but to
wait, and to possess my soul in patience.
I was taking things very easily indeed that evening, lounging in the
window of my room, and smoking, and looking at the early stars that were
peeping out above me, when I became aware of a strange-looking figure
coming slowly up the deserted little street. Without troubling very much
about it, I became interested in the figure, which was that of a tall,
ungainly young man, whose face and head, from my elevated position, were
hidden by a hat which appeared to be many sizes too large for him. He
was craning his neck this way and that, apparently looking for some
particular house; every now and then he referred to a scrap of paper
which he held in his fingers. I was watching him idly, when all at once
I woke from my half-dream and started to my feet; with my hands leaning
on the window-sill I stared down at him intently.
At that same moment he happened to look up towards me and I recognised
him. It was Andrew Ferkoe. I waved my hand, and nodded to him, and with
every extravagant sign of precaution he looked to right and to left, and
then came to the door of the house. I ran down and admitted him myself;
then I took him up to my room before permitting him to say a word. Once
in the room, with the door shut, I saw to my horror that he was shaking
from head to foot, and was alternately slapping his breast, and striving
to get some words out.
"What's the matter?" I asked. "Take your time about it; there's nothing
to get excited about."
He gasped again in that inarticulate fashion once or twice; then he
blurted out his message.
"She--she's gone!"
I pushed him into a chair and stood over him, with my hands on my hips,
striving by my own steadiness to put some steadiness into him. For a
time he only moaned, and shook his head and gaped at me, but at last, by
dint of threats and even some coaxing, I got his story out of him.
"Early this morning old Blowfield sent me with a telegram addressed to a
Dr. Just; it was written out on a piece of paper, and I had to copy it
at the post-office. It was addressed to Dr. Just at a house in
Highgate.
"Well, well, what did it say?" I asked impatiently.
"I'm coming to it as fast as I can," said Andrew Ferkoe resentfully.
"You forget I ain't used to this sort of thing. It simply said, 'Come at
once; can give you news of the runaway,' and it was signed 'Z.
Blowfield,' with the address."
I strangled an oath in my throat; I vowed that Uncle Zabdiel should pay
dearly for his treachery. "And what happened after that?" I demanded.
"About mid-day a tall, dark man drove up in a great hurry and asked for
old Blowfield--at least, he asked for Mr. Blowfield," went on Ferkoe. "I
was turned out of the room, but they talked together for a long time.
Then the bell was rung, and I was told to go and find the young lady,
and tell her she was wanted. After she'd gone into the room I did what
I'd never done before," he added with a chuckle. "I listened outside."
"Good lad!" I murmured.
He went on again, seemingly elated at my praise of him. "They kept on
talking, all three of them, and I heard the young lady say over and over
again, 'I won't! I won't!' and the dark man kept on threatening, and
saying what he would do, and old Blowfield kept on telling her that it
was for the best, and that she'd better go back, though I don't know in
the least where he meant her to go. The door was open just the least
little bit, and I saw and heard everything, because old Blowfield would
never dream that I should dare to do a thing like that."
"You're very slow!" I cried impatiently. "Tell me what happened then;
what did the young lady do? Did she refuse to leave the house?"
"Yes, she kept on saying she wouldn't. And I'm being as fast as I can,
only there's such a lot to tell. I should get on faster if you weren't
so impatient."
I subdued my wrath as best I could. I decided to let him go on in his
own fashion.
"And then the funniest thing happened," he said, sitting upright in his
chair in his excitement, and staring at me round-eyed. "The dark
man--Dr. Just, I suppose--began to spread out his hands--like this"--he
made a curious fluttering movement with his hands before my face, so
grotesque a movement that I should have laughed under any other
circumstances--"and began to talk in a very low, smooth voice to the
young lady. At first she cried out to him to keep away from her, and
covered up her face with her hands, but after a time she dropped the
hands and stared at him. I saw her drop down into a chair and shut her
eyes. He never left off talking; he seemed to be telling her something
she was to do. He spoke so softly that I couldn't catch everything, but
he said something about a carriage, and about four o'clock in the
afternoon. Then suddenly he clapped his hands, and she jumped up, and
looked at him as if she was frightened."
"You dolt!" I shouted, shaking him. "This devilish business happened at
mid-day, and here's night, and you've only just arrived to tell the
tale."
"It wasn't my fault," he whimpered. "You ought to know what that house
is like; I'm watched every minute. I tried over and over again to slip
out, and couldn't; I only managed it, as it was, after it got dark. I've
done my best."
"I beg your pardon," I said penitently. "I'm quite sure you have. Now
tell me what else happened."
"Dr. Just went away, and the young lady went off to her room. I went
back to work, and old Blowfield kept on walking up and down the room,
and muttering to himself. Once he stopped, in order to ask me about you.
He wanted to know if I'd seen you."
"Yes, I should think he would want to know that!" I muttered between my
teeth.
"He said if you came near the house I wasn't to let you in; I was to go
for the police, or do something else to keep you away. Above all, I was
to give him warning, so that he could lock himself in somewhere."
I laughed grimly. I knew that I had already secured the allegiance of
this poor warder, and could get at my man when I wanted to do so. I
urged him to go on with his tale.
"Then, just as four o'clock was striking, and I was working, old
Blowfield gave me an awful fright; he suddenly put his hand on my
shoulder and whispered in my ear. 'Do you hear that?' he said; and I
wondered what he meant. And then I heard someone coming downstairs,
singing as they came."
I could scarcely contain myself, but I determined I would wait for the
end. In his excitement Andrew Ferkoe had risen to his feet, and was
staring at me in the wildest fashion.
"Old Blowfield went to the door and opened it, and I had a look out,
too. And there was the young lady," he went on, lowering his voice,
"going along the hall, and taking not the slightest notice of anybody.
She opened the door, and left it open; she walked across the garden; she
opened the gate, and left that open. Old Blowfield and me walked after
her, never so much as saying a word. There was a carriage waiting at the
gate, and she got into it and shut the door; then the carriage drove
away. And all the time she had never said a word. Old Blowfield laughed,
and shut the door, and went back to his room, and I went back too. And
that's the end of it."
I sank down into a chair, and hid my face in my hands, and gave myself
up to my own bitter thoughts. What power had I against such arts as
these? What could I do, when a man could so steal the very soul out of a
woman and make her do his bidding in this fashion? What might not have
happened in all these hours during which I, drugged into a false
security, had stayed in this place, doing nothing but dream dreams? I
sprang to my feet at last, for I felt that this was no time for idle
dreaming. The time had come for action, and I would step now into the
matter, with no thought for myself, or for what might happen to me. It
must be Debora first, and Debora always; I would save her, if I dipped
my hands in blood to do it.
"What are you going to do?" asked Andrew, staring at me.
"I don't know yet," I answered him. "It depends on whether I can get
what I want by peaceful means; I'm going to try that first. After that,
I'm going to surprise certain friends of ours--give them such a
shaking-up as they'll remember to the end of their days."
"And what are you going to do to old Blowfield?" he asked; and I thought
I saw in his face that he would relish anything that might happen to his
master.
"What I'm going to do to old Blowfield, as you call him, won't bear
thinking about," I said. "Now, I don't want you to get into trouble;
you'd better cut off. I'm very grateful to you; I'm sorry if I seemed
impatient. Good-night!"
He gripped my hand, and went downstairs. I followed him and let him out
into the silent street; saw him flutter off round the corner like a
long, awkward ghost. Then I closed the door and went upstairs again.
I own I was puzzled what to do. My own crude methods had failed
hitherto; I must, if possible, meet subtlety with subtlety. Of what use
was it for me to induce Debora to come willingly to me, if all my plans
could be upset in a moment by Dr. Just, as they had been this day? Yet I
knew that I must first go to that house in which she was imprisoned; my
business with Zabdiel Blowfield could wait, I told myself fiercely.
I got a tram down to Highgate, cursing its slowness all the way; and so
at last stood outside the house, not having yet made up my mind what to
do. I opened the gate cautiously, and went into the grounds. I saw that
the house, so far as the front, at least, was concerned, was in
darkness. I knew that it would be madness to attempt to obtain
admittance in the usual fashion; I determined to break into the house,
as I had done once before.
I was on the very point of selecting my window, when I heard a rustling
among the leaves close to me; I drew back and waited. There came into
sight out of the shadows William Capper; but not the William Capper I
seemed to have known. For this man stood alert and ready, and the face I
saw in the light of the stars was the keen, watchful face I had
surprised before. He seemed to be waiting for something; he, too, was
watching the house. Determined to put the matter to the test, I stepped
out quickly from my hiding-place and confronted him.
The instant change in the man was surprising; but this time it did not
deceive me. I gripped the now drooping figure by the shoulder and shook
him. He looked up at me with that vacant smile on his face, but said
nothing.
"What's the game, Capper?" I asked quickly in a whisper. "Why are you
pretending you don't understand things, and can't remember things? I
hate this man Just, quite as much as you do; why won't you confide in
me?"
For a moment I thought he was going to do so; he kept very still under
my grip, and I knew that he was thinking the matter over carefully. It
was almost as though I could see into his mind. But a moment later he
seemed to come to some resolution; he looked up quickly, and shook his
head, with that lost look again in his eyes.
"I don't understand," he whispered. "I don't remember."
"Yes, you do," I retorted roughly. "You're as sane as I am; and you've
got some purpose in your mind--and I can guess what it is."
"You frighten me, sir," he said in a whisper. "I am old and feeble, and
I have forgotten so many things. Please let me alone."
He did it so well, that for a moment I believed that I had not seen that
change in him; at all events, I saw that I could do nothing with him,
and I watched him as he drifted away among the trees and was lost to my
sight. Then I turned my attention to the house.
But I found that every door and every window was strongly fastened and
shuttered; evidently they had been expecting a visit from me. I had
nothing with which I could effect an entrance, so that I merely raged
round the place, in a futile fashion, in the darkness, wondering what I
should do. Every now and then I thought I caught sight of the man
Capper, dodging about in the shadows; but even of that I could not be
sure. At last, in desperation, I went to the big hall-door and boldly
rang the bell.
I waited for a long time, while I heard slight movements within the
house; then there was a whispering behind the closed door. I had made up
my mind that the moment that door was opened I would force my way in, at
whatever risk. I prepared to rush the citadel now, by drawing back a
little, where no light could reach me as the door was opened, so that I
could force anyone who had answered my ringing to peer out. While I
waited, I was certain that I saw Capper waiting, too, a few yards away.
My ruse succeeded. The door was opened a little way, and the voice of
Martha Leach demanded to know who was there; then there was more
whispering, and the door was opened a little further, and Martha Leach
stepped out under the porch. I made one leap at her, and caught her in
my arms; and before she quite knew what was happening, had literally
rolled with her into the hall, keeping a tight clutch of her. In the
confusion someone slammed the door, and I put my back against it.
I saw that it would be a matter of three to one, at the least, even
though one of the three was partly disabled. The doctor had backed away
as he saw us come flying in, and I think it must have been Harvey
Scoffold who shut the door. I blurted out at once what I had to say.
"There's a young lady here--Miss Matchwick--detained against her will.
Where is she?"
"Turn that fellow out!" shouted the doctor. "Two of you ought to be able
to manage him, I should think. Turn him out!"
Now, it is a most undignified thing to be tackled by a woman; yet I am
bound to confess that in the rough and tumble that ensued, Martha Leach
did more than her full share. Bardolph Just had run back into the house,
and had set a bell ringing; a couple of men-servants came rushing up. I
did not want to hit the woman; but I longed for one blow at Harvey
Scoffold, and as a matter of fact I contrived to get one or two really
serviceable ones in on his rotund person. But by this time, while we
were all scrambling about together, and while I was raising my voice in
repeated shouts of "Debora," in the hope that I might attract her
attention, the woman had literally wound herself about me, so that I
was powerless. The door was pulled open, and this time we tumbled out
instead of in. And as Martha dexterously released me only when I was
outside, and contrived to trip me up very neatly down the steps, she was
inside again, and the door closed, before I could get to my feet. Then I
heard the bolts shooting into place, and knew that the victory was with
them.
I had a mind to set the bell ringing again, in the hope to force them to
open the door. But I had the good sense to understand that I should
serve no good purpose in that way; I should, in all probability, bring
some night policeman down upon me, when explanations would be difficult.
For after all, on the face of it, you cannot very well demand that a
young lady shall be fetched out at night from the house of a
highly-respectable guardian by a stranger who can give no really good
account of himself. And that, as you will acknowledge, was exactly the
position of affairs.
Baffled, I went away again, and was fortunate enough to be able to get
back to Barnet in the same fashion as before. You may imagine my frame
of mind by the time I got to Uncle Zabdiel's house; I was in a state of
ungovernable fury. I marched into the garden, and rang the bell
violently, and waited. After a minute or two, during which I had
repeated the summons, I heard a window raised above me, and, looking up,
saw Uncle Zabdiel's wicked old head looking out. All about me was very
quiet, for the house stood somewhat retired from an unfrequented road,
and I could hear his voice distinctly.
"Who is it? What do you want?" he demanded.
"I want to come in," I said, stepping back a little from the door so
that he could see me. "You know me, Uncle Zabdiel."
"I should think I do," he sneered. "Do you think I should be fool
enough to let you in--you wild beast!--you bully!--I've too great a care
for my own safety for that."
"You'd better let me in quietly," I warned him.
"I won't--I won't!" he almost shouted. "I mean to protect myself. And
I'll tell you something else, my young friend," he went on, leaning
further out of the window, and shaking a fist at me. "I've made up my
mind to see you comfortably put away again."
"Indeed?" I retorted, "and how are you going to manage that?"
"I've written to the authorities, telling them that if they come here
to-morrow night I can give them a full and true account of a certain
convict called Norton Hyde, supposed to be buried in Penthouse Prison,
but really very much alive. Put that in your pipe and smoke it! I've
cooked your goose, my boy, and I shall sleep peaceful o' nights in
future."
He slammed down the window, leaving me standing in the darkness,
thinking long thoughts. I saw that it was as hopeless for me to get in
here as it had proved to be at the house of Bardolph Just; I went
sorrowfully out of the gate, realising that all was over. As I turned
into the road, I almost cannoned against a man who seemed to be lounging
there. He turned away his face quickly, and although for a moment I had
a feeling that it was a face that was familiar to me, the thought merely
flitted through my mind for a moment, and was gone as the man lurched
away. I saw that he was dressed roughly, like a labouring man.
You may be sure that I did not sleep that night. I paced my room,
wondering what I should do; I varied that only by seating myself at the
window, and staring out at the sky, telling myself over and over again
that all I had striven to do had come to naught. To-morrow the true
story would be told to the world; to-morrow Norton Hyde would be a
hunted man again, with three or four people interested in his capture,
who would know all his movements, and could supply a dozen clues towards
finding him. It was impossible for me to do anything to help Debora,
because Bardolph Just's house would be one of the first places to be
watched, if it came to a hunt for me. I was done.
And then it was that I came to a desperate resolution. I was homeless
and hopeless, and I had failed; I determined that I would keep the
appointment that night, and would meet those who were to see my uncle. I
would give myself up to the authorities, and so end the miserable
business by going back to my prison. There was nothing else for it; I
felt that it was far better to close the matter once and for all time.
I got to Uncle Zabdiel's house after darkness had set in. Just as I
turned into the road leading to it, I saw two men, respectably dressed
in dark clothing, and with bowler hats, going along in front of me; my
heart gave a little jump, for I thought I knew their errand. They came
to the gate in the wall and opened it. I had determined by this time
that I would waste no time, and so I came up with them as they passed
into the garden. One of them turned and looked at me.
"What do you want, sir?" he asked.
"I've come to see Mr. Blowfield," I replied; for I had made up my mind
to see the matter out in my uncle's presence.
The man said nothing, but joined his companion, who was standing before
the door of the house, and who had just rung the bell. There was no
answer to the summons, and after a time he tugged at the bell-pull
again. In moving to do this he made a discovery.
"Why, the door's open," he murmured; then he pushed it, and stepped into
the dark hall.
"Hadn't you better call out?" said the other man.
The first man lifted his voice, and called out sharply, "Mr. Blowfield!
Mr. Blowfield!"
His voice echoed in a dreary fashion through the house, and seemed to
come back at us. The first man had by this time touched a shelf which
stood in the hall, and on which was a lamp. Looking about him sharply
while he did so, he dexterously got a light and lit the lamp; then, with
a glance at his companion, he stepped into the room which was the
dining-room. It was empty.
I followed them from that room into the study, which again was empty.
Then the first man, still carrying the lamp, after muttering something
to his companion which I did not hear, began to ascend the stairs. I was
the last of the trio, and I suddenly heard the first man cry out in an
excited voice.
"Here, catch hold of this!" he exclaimed, passing the lamp down to the
other man. "There's been an accident!"
I pressed forward then, and looked. Lying prone upon the staircase, with
his head and shoulders hanging down over the top stairs, lay Uncle
Zabdiel. Beside him was a heavy stick--that stick with which he had once
threatened me--and his head and face were cruelly beaten in. Whoever had
killed him had not been able to bear the sight of him afterwards, for
the clothes from his bed had been dragged out of the room and pulled
across him.
Uncle Zabdiel's dream had come true.