DR. LAMB TELLS THE CONSTABLES AND MRS. MIDDLEMORE WHAT IS THE MATTER
WITH MR. FELIX.
Arrived once more in that comfortable apartment, they shook off the
snow dust which had blown in upon them from the street. Then Constable
Nightingale assumed a judicial attitude.
"In case of anything being wrong," he said, "we must all be agreed
upon what has took place before it's discovered."
"Before what's discovered?" cried Mrs. Middlemore.
"That we've got to find out."
"It's ten to one there's nothing to find out," said Constable Wigg.
"It's ten to one there is," retorted Constable Nightingale. "I go a
bit deeper than you, Wigg; but whether there is or there ain't, it's
always well to be prepared with a story. I've got something in my mind
that you don't seem to have in yours; what it is you shall hear
presently. Mrs. Middlemore, going out for her supper-beer at her usual
hour, about half-past eleven shuts the street-door behind her, and
does not return till past twelve. Is that correct, ma'am?"
"Quite correct, Mr. Nightingale; but what are you driving at?"
"All in good time, my dear. You leave the house safe, and you are sure
you shut the street-door tight?"
"I'll take my oath of it."
"It may come to that; I don't want to scare you, but it may come to
that. When you come back with the supper-beer you find the street-door
open?"
"But I don't."
"Excuse me, you do; it's necessary."
"Oh!"
"And I'll tell you why. When you come home you find Wigg and me here,
don't you?"
"Yes."
"You've heard how we got in, but it's a fact that we had no business
here unless we was called in. We must have been called in by somebody,
and whoever it was must have had a reason for inviting us. Is that
sound, Wigg?"
"As sound as a rock, Nightingale."
"Mr. Felix didn't call us in, and there's no one else in the house
while you've gone for your supper-beer?" Mrs. Middlemore coughed,
which caused Constable Nightingale to ask, "What's that for?"
"It ain't for me to say," replied Mrs. Middlemore. "What you want to
git at is that there's only two people living regularly in the 'ouse,
Mr. Felix and me. If Mr. Felix makes it worth my while to keep my own
counsel, I'm going to keep it, and I don't care what happens."
"I wouldn't persuade you otherwise. Gentlemen that's so liberal with
their money as him ain't to be met with every day. Very well, then.
There's only you and Mr. Felix living in the house, and he don't call
us in. It's you that does that. Why? You shut the street-door tight
when you went out; you find it open when you come back, and at the
same time you see a man with a red handkercher round his neck run out
of the house. Of course you're alarmed; Wigg happens to be near, and
you call him; he, thinking he may want assistance, calls me; and
that's how it is we're both here at the present moment. That's pretty
straight, isn't it?"
Both his hearers agreed that it was, and he proceeded:
"But we mustn't forget that we've been here some time already. I make
it, by my silver watch that I won in a raffle, twenty minutes to two.
Your kitchen clock, Mrs. Middlemore, is a little slow."
"Do what I will," said Mrs. Middlemore, "I can't make it go right."
"Some clocks," observed Constable Nightingale, with a touch of
humor--he was on the best of terms with himself, having, in a certain
sense, snuffed out Constable Wigg--"are like some men and women;
they're either too slow or too fast, and try your hardest you can't
alter 'em. We must be able to account for a little time between past
twelve o'clock and now; there's no need to be too particular; such a
night as this is 'll excuse a lot. I'll take the liberty of stopping
your clock and putting the hands back to twelve, so that you won't be
fixed to a half-hour or so. The clock stopped while you was getting
your supper-beer, of course. Likewise I stop my watch, and put the
hands back to about the same time. Now, what do I do when Wigg calls
me here? I hear what you, ma'am, have to say about the street-door
being open and a man running out and almost upsetting you, and I make
tracks after him. I don't catch him, and then I come back here, and
that brings us up to this very minute. Plain sailing, so far. You'll
bear it in mind, you and Wigg, won't you?"
"I've got it," said Wigg, "at my fingers' ends."
"So 'ave I," said Mrs. Middlemore.
"But what are you going to do now?" asked Constable Wigg.
"To find the cat," replied Constable Nightingale.
"Going to take it up?" This, with a fine touch of sarcasm.
"No, Wigg," said Constable Nightingale, speaking very seriously. "I
want to make sure where it got that red color from, because, not to
put too fine a point on it, it's blood."
Mrs. Middlemore uttered a stifled scream, and clapped her hands on her
hips.
"That," continued Constable Nightingale, in a tone of severity to his
brother constable, "is what I had in my mind and you didn't have in
yours. Why, if you look with only half an eye at them stains on the
floor, you can't mistake 'em."
"Oh, dear, oh, dear," moaned Mrs. Middlemore, "we shall all be
murdered in our beds?"
"Nothing of the sort, my dear," said Constable Nightingale; "we'll
look after you. Pull yourself together, there's a good soul, and
answer me one or two questions. I know that Mr. Felix comes home late
sometimes."
"Very often, very often."
"And that, as well as being generous with his money, he likes his
pleasures. Now, are you sure he was at home when you went out for your
beer?"
"I'm certain of it."
"And that he did not go out before you come back?"
"How can I tell you that?"
"Of course. A stupid question. But, at all events, he ain't the sort
of man to go out in such a storm as this?"
"Not 'im. He's too fond of his comforts."
"Does he ever ring for you in the middle of the night--at such a time
as this, for instance?"
"Never."
"Has he ever been took ill in the night, and rung you up?"
"Never."
"Do you ever go up to his room without being summoned?"
"It's more than I dare. I should lose the best customer I ever had in
my life. He made things as clear as can be when he first come into the
'ouse. 'Never,' he ses to me, 'under any circumstances whatever, let
me see you going upstairs to my rooms unless I call you. Never let me
ketch you prying about. If I do, you shall 'ear of it in a way you
won't like.'"
Constable Nightingale was silent a few moments, and then he said,
briskly, "Let's us go and hunt up that cat."
But although they searched the basement through they could not find
it.
"Perhaps," suggested Constable Wigg, "it got out of the house when we
opened the street-door just now."
"Perhaps," assented Constable Nightingale, laconically.
Then they ascended the stairs to the ground floor, Constable
Nightingale examining very carefully the marks of the cat's paws on
the oilcloth.
"Do you see, Mrs. Middlemore? Blood. There's no mistaking it. And I'm
hanged if it doesn't go upstairs to the first floor."
"You're not going up, Mr. Nightingale?" asked Mrs. Middlemore, under
her breath, laying her hand on his arm.
"If I know myself," said Constable Nightingale, patting her hand, "I
am. Whatever happens, it's my duty and Wigg's to get at the bottom of
this. What else did you call us in for?"
"To be sure," said Mrs. Middlemore, helplessly, "but if you have any
feeling for me, speak low."
"I will, my dear. My feelings for you well you must know, but this is
not the time. Look here at this stain, and this, and this. The spectre
cat has been up these stairs. Puss, puss, puss, puss! Not likely that
it'll answer; it's got the cunning of a fox. That's Mr. Felix's room,
if my eyes don't deceive me."
"Yes, it is."
"But it don't look the same door as the one I have been through; it
ain't the first time I've been here, you know. Where's the keyhole?
I'll take my oath there was a keyhole when I last saw the door."
"The key 'ole's 'id. That brass plate covers it; it's a patent spring,
and he fixes it some'ow from the inside; he presses something, and it
slides down; then he turns a screw, and makes it tight."
"Can anyone do it but him?"
"I don't think they can; it's 'is own idea, he ses."
"See how we're getting on, Wigg. No one can work that brass plate but
him; that shows he's at home." He knocked at the door, and called "Mr.
Felix, Mr. Felix!"
"He'll give me notice to leave," said Mrs. Middlemore, "I'm sure he
will. He's the last man in the world to be broke in upon like this."
"Leave it to me, my dear," said Constable Nightingale, "I'll make it
all right with him. What did he say to me when I was on this beat? I
told you, you remember, Wigg. 'Constable,' says he, 'you're on night
duty here.' 'Yes, sir,' I answers. 'Very good,' says he, 'I live in
this house, and I always make it a point to look after them as looks
after me.' That was a straight tip, and I'm looking after him now. Mr.
Felix, Mr. Felix!"
But though he called again and again, and rapped at the door twenty
times, he received no answer from within the room.
"It's singular," he said, knitting his brows. "He must be a sound
sleeper, must Mr. Felix. I'll try again."
He continued to knock and call "loud enough," as he declared, "to
rouse the dead," but no response came to the anxious little group on
the landing.
"There's not only no keyhole," said Constable Nightingale, "but
there's no handle to take hold of. The door's for all the world like a
safe without a knob. Mr. Felix, Mr. Felix, Mr. Felix! Don't you hear
us, sir? I've got something particular to say to you."
For all the effect he produced he might have spoken to a stone wall,
and he and Constable Wigg and Mrs. Middlemore stood looking helplessly
at each other.
"I tell you what it is," he said, tightening his belt, "this has got
beyond a joke. What with the silence, and the bloodstains, and the
man with the red handkercher round his neck as run out of the house
while Wigg and me was talking together outside, there's more in this
than meets the eye. Now, Mrs. Middlemore, there's no occasion for us
to speak low any more; it's wearing to the throat. Have you got any
doubt at all that the brass plate there couldn't be fixed as it is
unless somebody was inside the room?"
"I'm certain of it, Mr. Nightingale, I'm certain of it."
"Then Mr. Felix, or somebody else, must be there, and if he's alive
couldn't help hearing us, unless he's took a sleeping draught of
twenty-horse power. There's a bell wire up there; Wigg, give me a
back."
Constable Wigg stooped, and Constable Nightingale stood on his back
and reached the wire, which he pulled smartly for so long a time that
Constable Wigg's back gave way, and brought Constable Nightingale to
the ground somewhat unexpectedly. Certainly every person in the house
possessed of the sense of hearing must have heard the bell, which had
a peculiar resonant ring, and seemed on this occasion to have a
hundred ghostly echoes which proclaimed themselves incontinently from
attic to basement. No well-behaved echo would have displayed such a
lack of method.
"Oughtn't that to rouse him?" asked Constable Nightingale.
"It ought to," replied Mrs. Middlemore, "if----" and then suddenly
paused, the "if" frozen on her tongue.
"Ah," said Constable Nightingale, gravely, "if!"
There was a window on the landing, and he opened it. The snow dust
floated through it, but in less quantities, and there was a
perceptible abatement in the violence of the storm. He closed the
window.
"It ain't so bad as it was. Mrs. Middlemore, do you think I could
force this door open?"
"Not without tools," said Mrs. Middlemore. "It's made of oak."
"No harm in trying," said Constable Nightingale. "Here, Wigg, give us
a pound."
They applied their shoulders with a will, but their united efforts
produced no impression.
"It's got to be opened," said Constable Nightingale, "by fair means or
foul. Wigg, do you know of a locksmith about here?"
"I don't."
In point of fact Constable Nightingale knew of one, but it was at some
little distance, and he did not want to leave Constable Wigg and Mrs.
Middlemore alone.
"There's one in Wardour Street," he said.
"Is there?" said Constable Wigg. "I'm new to the neighborhood, and I'm
certain I shouldn't be able to find it."
"All right," said Constable Nightingale, briskly, seeing his way out
of the difficulty, "we'll go together."
"And leave me alone 'ere after what's happened!" cried Mrs.
Middlemore. "Not if you was to fill my lap with dymens! That 'orrid
cat 'd come and scare the life out of me!"
"We can't all go," mused Constable Nightingale, with a stern eye on
his comrade, "and I ain't a man to shirk a duty; but don't go back on
a pal, Wigg, whatever you do."
"Nobody could ever bring that against me, Nightingale," said Constable
Wigg, in an injured tone; "and I don't know what you're driving at."
"I hope you don't," said Constable Nightingale, by no means softened,
"that's all I've got to say. I hope you don't. You'd better both see
me to the door, and shut it after me. And mind you keep your ears open
to let me in when I come back."
Constable Nightingale, a victim to duty, was presently battling with
the storm through the deserted streets, while Constable Wigg and Mrs.
Middlemore, at the housekeeper's suggestion, made their way to the
warm kitchen, where she brewed for her companion a stiff glass of
grog. "What did Mr. Nightingale mean," asked Mrs. Middlemore, "when he
said never go back on a pal?"
"I'd rather not say," replied Constable Wigg, and then appeared
suddenly to come to a different conclusion.
"But why not? The last of my wishes would be to vex you, and when
you're curious you like to know, don't you, my--I beg you a thousand
pardons--don't you, ma'am?"
"Mr. Wigg," observed Mrs. Middlemore, "I'm a woman, and I do like to
know. Oh!" she cried, with a little shriek, "was that somebody moving
upstairs?"
"No, my dear, no. Keep close to me; I will protect you and proud of
the chance, as who wouldn't be? When Nightingale threw out that hint,
he meant, if I'm not mistook, that a lady should have only one
admirer, hisself."
"Well, I'm sure!"
"He's not a bad sort of fellow, is Nightingale--it ain't for me to say
anything against him--but when he wants a monopoly of something very
precious"--and Constable Wigg looked languishingly at Mrs.
Middlemore--"when he wants that, and as good as says it belongs to him
and no one else, he touches a tender point. There's no harm in my
admiring you, my dear; who could help it, that's what I'd like to
know? Thank you--I _will_ take another lump of sugar. Yes, who could
help it? Charms like yours--if you'll forgive me for mentioning
'em--ain't to be met with every day, and a man with a heart would have
to be blind not to be struck. There! I wouldn't have spoke so free if
it hadn't been for Nightingale and for your asking me what he meant.
But a man can't always restrain his feelings, and I hope I haven't
hurt yours, my dear."
"Not a bit, Mr. Wigg," said Mrs. Middlemore, and the tone would have
been amorous had it not been for the mysterious trouble in her house;
"you've spoke beautiful, and Mr. Nightingale ought to be ashamed of
'isself."
"Don't tell him I said anything, my dear."
"I won't. I give you my 'and on it."
He took it and squeezed it, and said, "What's passed we'll keep to
ourselves."
"We will, Mr. Wigg."
"Here's to our better acquaintance, my dear."
"I'm sure you're kindness itself. Oh, Mr. Wigg, I 'ope nothing 'as
'appened to Mr. Felix."
"I hope so, too. My opinion is that he's out, and that the brass plate
over the keyhole has got there by accident. But Nightingale always
makes the worst of things. That's not my way. Wait till the worst
comes, I say; it's time enough. You may worrit yourself to death, and
be no better off for it after all."
In this strain they continued their conversation, Mrs. Middlemore
declaring that it was quite a comfort to have Constable Wigg with her.
She confided to him that she had a bit of money saved, and that Mr.
Felix had said more than once that he would remember her in his will,
which elicited from Constable Wigg the remark that he hoped Mr. Felix
had made his will and had behaved as he ought to; "though, mind you,"
he added, "I don't believe anything's the matter with him, or that
he's at home. It's all through that spectre cat, and as for
bloodstains, they've got to be proved." A knocking and rattling at
the street-door caused Mrs. Middlemore to cling very closely to him,
and when she recovered her fright, they both went upstairs to let
Constable Nightingale in.
"Is that you, Nightingale?" Constable Wigg called out before he turned
the key.
"Yes, it's me," cried Constable Nightingale, without: "don't keep us
waiting all night."
"He's got the locksmith with him," whispered Constable Wigg, with his
lips very close to Mrs. Middlemore's ear. Then he threw open the
street-door.
Constable Nightingale had somebody else with him besides the
locksmith. Accompanying them was a tall, thin, gentlemanly-looking,
but rather seedy young gentleman, who stepped quickly into the
passage.
"Has anything took place?" inquired Constable Nightingale, glancing
suspiciously from Constable Wigg to Mrs. Middlemore.
"Nothing," replied Constable Wigg. "There ain't been a sound in the
house."
"Just as we turned the corner," said Constable Nightingale, with a
motion of his hand toward the seedy young gentleman, "we met Dr. Lamb,
who was coming home from a case, and as there's no knowing what might
be wanted, I asked him to favor us with his company."
Mrs. Middlemore knew Dr. Lamb, who kept a chemist's shop in the
neighborhood, and she gave him a friendly nod. It must have been a
trying case that the young gentleman had come from, for he looked
particularly shaky, and was rather unsteady on his legs. The locksmith
now made some sensible remarks to the effect that he had been awakened
from a sound sleep, and would like to get back to bed again;
therefore, had they not better get to work at once? His suggestion was
acted upon, and they all proceeded upstairs.
"I'll give him another chance," said Constable Nightingale, and he
forthwith exerted the full strength of his lungs and hammered away at
the door, to as little purpose as he had previously done. "There's
nothing for it," he said, very red in the face, "but to force open the
door in the name of the law."
The locksmith, who had brought a basket of tools with him, declared he
would make short work of it, but after examining the door was forced
to confess inwardly that this was an idle boast. It was of stout oak,
and to remove the brass plate and pick the lock occupied him much
longer than he expected. However, in the course of about twenty
minutes the task was accomplished, and the door stood open for them to
enter. Standing for a moment irresolutely on the threshold they were
greeted by a blast of cold air. Constable Nightingale was the first to
notice that the window was open, and he stepped into the room and
closed it. The others followed, and were treading close on his heels
when he waved them back, and pointed downward. There, on the floor,
was a little pool of blood. They shuddered as they gazed upon it.
"I thought as much," said Constable Nightingale, the first to speak.
"There's been foul play here. Who opened that window, and left it open
on such a night? The cry for help you heard, Wigg, came from this
room."
"But there's nobody here," said Constable Wigg.
"That's his bedroom," said Mrs. Middlemore, in an awestruck voice,
pointing to a room the door of which was ajar.
They stepped softly toward it, Dr. Lamb now taking the lead. In an
arm-chair by the side of the bed sat a man, his arms hanging
listlessly down. Dr. Lamb shook him roughly.
"Wake up!"
But the figure did not move. Dr. Lamb leant over the recumbent form,
and thrust his hand inside the man's waistcoat. Then, with his fingers
under the man's chin, he raised the head, so that the face was
visible.
"Good Lord!" cried Mrs. Middlemore. "It's Mr. Felix! What's the matter
with him?"
Dr. Lamb put his finger to his lips, and did not immediately reply.
When he removed his hand the head dropped down again, hiding the face.
"If you want to know what's the matter with the man," he said,
presently, "he's dead."
"Dead!" exclaimed Mrs. Middlemore.
"As a doornail," said Dr. Lamb.