VI

Mr. Bob Naylor "got a bit back," in his own phrase, on other races

by the end of the week, but all the same he saw a black settling day

ahead. He had been done--done for a certainty. He had realised this

as soon as he saw the numbers go up for the Redbury Stakes. Janissary

had not been drugged after all. That meant that another horse had

been substituted for him, and that the whole thing was an elaborate

plant. He thought he knew Janissary pretty well by sight, too, and

rather prided himself on having an eye for a horse. But clearly it was

a plant--a complete do. Telfer was in it, and so of course was that

gentlemanly stranger who had strolled along Redbury High Street with

him that night, telling that cock-and-bull story about the afternoon

walks and the handful of malt. There was a nice schoolboy tale to take

in a man who thought himself broad as Cheapside! He cursed himself high

and low. To be done, and to know it, was a galling thing, but this

would be worse. The tale would get about. They would boast of a clever

stroke like that, and that would injure him with everybody; with honest

men, because his reputation, as it was, would bear no worsening, and

with knaves like himself, because they would laugh at him, and leave

him out when any little co-operative swindle was in contemplation. But

though the chagrin of the defeat was bitter bad enough, his losses

were worse. He had taken everything offered on Janissary after he had

nobbled the wrong horse, and had given almost any odds demanded. Do as

he might, he could see nothing but a balance against him on Monday,

which, though he might pay out his last cent, he could not cover by

several hundred pounds.

But on the day he met his customers at his club, as usual, and paid out

freely. Young Richard Telfer, however, with whom he was heavily "in,"

he put off till the evening. "I've been a bit disappointed this morning

over some ready that was to be paid over," he said, "and I've used the

last cheque-form in my book. You might come and have a bit of dinner

with me to-night, Mr. Telfer, and take it then."

Telfer assented without difficulty.

"All right, then, that's settled. You know the place--Gold Street.

Seven sharp. The missis 'll be pleased to see you, I'm sure, Mr.

Telfer. Let's see--it's fifteen hundred and thirty altogether, isn't

it?"

"Yes, that's it. I'll come."

Young Telfer left the club, and at the corner of the street ran against

Dorrington. Telfer, of course, knew him but as his late fellow-guest

at the "Crown" at Redbury, and this was their first meeting in London

after their return from the races.

"Ah!" said Telfer. "Going to draw a bit of Janissary money, eh?"

"Oh, I haven't much to draw," Dorrington answered. "But I expect your

pockets are pretty heavy, if you've just come from Naylor."

"Yes, I've just come from Naylor, but I haven't touched the merry sovs.

just yet," replied Telfer cheerfully. "There's been a run on Naylor,

and I'm going to dine with him and his respectable missis this evening,

and draw the plunder then. I feel rather curious to see what sort of

establishment a man like Naylor keeps going. His place is in Gold

Street, Chelsea."

"Yes, I believe so. Anyhow, I congratulate you on your haul, and wish

you a merry evening." And the two men parted.

Dorrington had, indeed, a few pounds to draw as the result of his

"fishing" bet with Naylor, but now he resolved to ask for the money

at his own time. This invitation to Telfer took his attention, and

it reminded him oddly of the circumstances detailed in the report of

the inquest on Lawrence, transcribed at the beginning of this paper.

He had cut out this report at the time it appeared, because he saw

certain singularities about the case, and he had filed it, as he had

done hundreds of other such cuttings. And now certain things led him to

fancy that he might be much interested to observe the proceedings at

Naylor's house on the evening after a bad settling-day. He resolved to

gratify himself with a strict professional watch in Gold Street that

evening, on chance of something coming of it. For it was an important

thing in Dorrington's rascally trade to get hold of as much of other

people's private business as possible, and to know exactly in what

cupboard to find every man's skeleton. For there was no knowing but

it might be turned into money sooner or later. So he found the number

of Naylor's house from the handiest directory, and at six o'clock, a

little disguised by a humbler style of dress than usual, he began his

watch.

Naylor's house was at the corner of a turning, with the flank wall

blank of windows, except for one at the top; and a public-house stood

at the opposite corner. Dorrington, skilled in watching without

attracting attention to himself, now lounged in the public-house bar,

now stood at the street corner, and now sauntered along the street,

a picture of vacancy of mind, and looking, apparently, at everything

in turn, except the house at the corner. The first thing he noted was

the issuing forth from the area steps of a healthy-looking girl in

much gaily be-ribboned finery. Plainly a servant taking an evening

out. This was an odd thing, that a servant should be allowed out on an

evening when a guest was expected to dinner; and the house looked like

one where it was more likely that one servant would be kept than two.

Dorrington hurried after the girl, and, changing his manner of address

to that of a civil labourer, said--

"Beg pardon, Miss, but is Mary Walker still in service at your 'ouse?"

"Mary Walker?" said the girl. "Why, no. I never 'eard the name. And

there ain't nobody in service there but me."

"Beg pardon--it must be the wrong 'ouse. It's my cousin, Miss, that's

all."

Dorrington left the girl and returned to the public-house. As he

reached it he perceived a second noticeable thing. Although it was

broad daylight, there was now a light behind the solitary window at the

top of the side-wall of Naylor's house. Dorrington slipped through the

swing-doors of the public-house and watched through the glass.

It was a bare room behind the high window--it might have been a

bathroom--and its interior was made but dimly visible from outside

by the light. A tall, thin woman was setting up an ordinary pair of

house-steps in the middle of the room. This done, she turned to the

window and pulled down the blind, and as she did so Dorrington noted

her very extreme thinness, both of face and body. When the blind

was down the light still remained within. Again there seemed some

significance in this. It appeared that the thin woman had waited until

her servant had gone before doing whatever she had to do in that room.

Presently the watcher came again into Gold Street, and from there

caught a passing glimpse of the thin woman as she moved busily about

the front room over the breakfast parlour.

Clearly, then, the light above had been left for future use. Dorrington

thought for a minute, and then suddenly stopped, with a snap of the

fingers. He saw it all now. Here was something altogether in his way.

He would take a daring course.

He withdrew once more to the public-house, and ordering another drink,

took up a position in a compartment from which he could command a view

both of Gold Street and the side turning. The time now, he saw by his

watch, was ten minutes to seven. He had to wait rather more than a

quarter of an hour before seeing Richard Telfer come walking jauntily

down Gold Street, mount the steps, and knock at Naylor's door. There

was a momentary glimpse of the thin woman's face at the door, and then

Telfer entered.

It now began to grow dusk, and in about twenty minutes more Dorrington

took to the street again. The room over the breakfast-parlour was

clearly the dining-room. It was lighted brightly, and by intent

listening the watcher could distinguish, now and again, a sudden burst

of laughter from Telfer, followed by the deeper grunts of Naylor's

voice, and once by sharp tones that it seemed natural to suppose were

the thin woman's.

Dorrington waited no longer, but slipped a pair of thick sock-feet over

his shoes, and, after a quick look along the two streets, to make sure

nobody was near, he descended the area steps. There was no light in the

breakfast-parlour. With his knife he opened the window-catch, raised

the sash quietly and stepped over the sill, and stood in the dark room

within.

All was quiet, except for the talking in the room above. He had done

but what many thieves--"parlour-jumpers"--do every day; but there was

more ahead. He made his way silently to the basement passage, and

passed into the kitchen. The room was lighted, and cookery utensils

were scattered about, but nobody was there. He waited till he heard a

request in Naylor's gruff voice for "another slice" of something, and

noiselessly mounted the stairs. He noticed that the dining-room door

was ajar, but passed quickly on to the second flight, and rested on the

landing above. Mrs. Naylor would probably have to go downstairs once

or twice again, but he did not expect anybody in the upper part of the

house just yet. There was a small flight of stairs above the landing

whereon he stood, leading to the servant's bedroom and the bathroom. He

took a glance at the bathroom with its feeble lamp, its steps, and its

open ceiling-trap, and returned again to the bedroom landing. There he

stood, waiting watchfully.

Twice the thin woman emerged from the dining-room, went downstairs and

came up again, each time with food and plates. Then she went down once

more, and was longer gone. Meantime Naylor and Telfer were talking and

joking loudly at the table.

When once again Dorrington saw the crown of the thin woman's head

rising over the bottom stair, he perceived that she bore a tray set

with cups already filled with coffee. These she carried into the

dining-room, whence presently came the sound of striking matches. After

this the conversation seemed to flag, and Telfer's part in it grew less

and less, till it ceased altogether, and the house was silent, except

for a sound of heavy breathing. Soon this became almost a snore, and

then there was a sudden noisy tumble, as of a drunken man; but still

the snoring went on, and the Naylors were talking in whispers.

There was a shuffling and heaving sound, and a chair was knocked over.

Then at the dining-room door appeared Naylor, walking backward, and

carrying the inert form of Telfer by the shoulders, while the thin

woman followed, supporting the feet. Dorrington retreated up the small

stair-flight, cocking a pocket revolver as he went.

Up the stairs they came, Naylor puffing and grunting with the exertion,

and Telfer still snoring soundly on, till at last, having mounted the

top flight, they came in at the bathroom door, where Dorrington stood

to receive them, smiling and bowing pleasantly, with his hat in one

hand and his revolver in the other.

The woman, from her position, saw him first, and dropped Telfer's legs

with a scream. Naylor turned his head and then also dropped his end.

The drugged man fell in a heap, snoring still.

Naylor, astounded and choking, made as if to rush at the interloper,

but Dorrington thrust the revolver into his face, and exclaimed,

still smiling courteously, "Mind, mind! It's a dangerous thing, is a

revolver, and apt to go off if you run against it!"

He stood thus for a second, and then stepped forward and took the

woman--who seemed like to swoon--by the arm, and pulled her into the

room. "Come, Mrs. Naylor," he said, "you're not one of the fainting

sort, and I think I'd better keep two such clever people as you under

my eye, or one of you may get into mischief. Come now, Naylor, we'll

talk business."

Naylor, now white as a ghost, sat on the edge of the bath, and stared

at Dorrington as though in a fascination of terror. His hands rested on

the bath at each side, and an odd sound of gurgling came from his thick

throat.

"We will talk business," Dorrington resumed. "Come, you've met me

before now, you know--at Redbury. You can't have forgotten Janissary,

and the walking exercise and the handful of malt. I'm afraid you're a

clumsy sort of rascal, Naylor, though you do your best. I'm a rascal

myself (though I don't often confess it), and I assure you that your

conceptions are crude as yet. Still, that isn't a bad notion in its

way, that of drugging a man and drowning him in your cistern up there

in the roof, when you prefer not to pay him his winnings. It has the

very considerable merit that, after the body has been fished out of any

river you may choose to fling it into, the stupid coroner's jury will

never suspect that it was drowned in any other water but that. Just as

happened in the Lawrence case, for instance. You remember that, eh? So

do I, very well, and it was because I remembered that that I paid you

this visit to-night. But you do the thing much too clumsily, really.

When I saw a light up here in broad daylight I knew at once it must be

left for some purpose to be executed later in the evening; and when

I saw the steps carefully placed at the same time, after the servant

had been sent out, why the thing was plain, remembering, as I did, the

curious coincidence that Mr. Lawrence was drowned the very evening he

had been here to take away his winnings. The steps _must_ be intended

to give access to the roof, where there was probably a tank to feed

the bath, and what more secret place to drown a man than there? And

what easier place, so long as the man was well drugged, and there was a

strong lid to the tank? As I say, Naylor, your notion was meritorious,

but your execution was wretched--perhaps because you had no notion that

I was watching you."

He paused, and then went on. "Come," he said, "collect your scattered

faculties, both of you. I shan't hand you over to the police for this

little invention of yours; it's too useful an invention to give away

to the police. I shan't hand you over, that is to say, as long as you

do as I tell you. If you get mutinous, you shall hang, both of you,

for the Lawrence business. I may as well tell you that I'm a bit of a

scoundrel myself, by way of profession. I don't boast about it, but

it's well to be frank in making arrangements of this sort. I'm going to

take you into my service. I employ a few agents, and you and your tank

may come in very handy from time to time. But we must set it up, with

a few improvements, in another house--a house which hasn't quite such

an awkward window. And we mustn't execute our little suppressions so

regularly on settling-day; it looks suspicious. So as soon as you can

get your faculties together we'll talk over this thing."

The man and the woman had exchanged glances during this speech, and now

Naylor asked, huskily, jerking his thumb toward the man on the floor,

"An'--an' what about 'im?"

"What about him? Why, get rid of him as soon as you like. Not that

way, though." (He pointed toward the ceiling trap.) "It doesn't pay

_me_, and I'm master now. Besides, what will people say when you tell

the same tale at his inquest that you told at Lawrence's? No, my

friend, bookmaking and murder don't assort together, profitable as the

combination may seem. Settling-days are too regular. And I'm not going

to be your accomplice, mind. You are going to be mine. Do what you

please with Telfer. Leave him on somebody's doorstep if you like."

"But I owe him fifteen hundred, and I ain't got more than half of it!

I'll be ruined!"

"Very likely," Dorrington returned placidly. "Be ruined as soon as

possible, then, and devote all your time to my business. You're not

to ornament the ring any longer, remember--you're to assist a private

inquiry agent, you and your wife and your charming tank. Repudiate the

debt if you like--it's a mere gaming transaction, and there is no legal

claim--or leave him in the street and tell him he's been robbed. Please

yourself as to this little roguery--you may as well, for it's the

last you will do on your own account. For the future your respectable

talents will be devoted to the service of Dorrington & Hicks, private

inquiry agents; and if you don't give satisfaction, that eminent firm

will hang you, with the assistance of the judge at the Old Bailey. So

settle your business yourselves, and quickly, for I've a good many

things to arrange with you."

And, Dorrington watching them continually, they took Telfer out by the

side gate in the garden wall and left him in a dark corner.

* * * * *

Thus I learnt the history of the horrible tank that had so nearly ended

my own life, as I have already related. Clearly the Naylors had changed

their name to Crofting on taking compulsory service with Dorrington,

and Mrs. Naylor was the repulsively thin woman who had drugged me with

her coffee in the house at Highgate. The events I have just recorded

took place about three years before I came to England. In the meantime

how many people, whose deaths might be turned to profit, had fallen

victims to the murderous cunning of Dorrington and his tools?

THE CASE OF THE "MIRROR OF

PORTUGAL"