"From Messrs. Spink and Peters, Solicitors, 582, Lincoln's Inn, W.C.
"To William Taylor, Caretaker,--
"102, Belgrave Street, S.W.
"Messrs. Spink and Peters are instructed by Sir Charles Thorold to
inform William Taylor that owing to his advanced age his services will
not be needed by Sir Charles Thorold after March 25. William Taylor is
requested to acknowledge the receipt of this letter."
"They don't consider your feelings much," I said, as I refolded the
letter and handed it back to him.
He seemed puzzled.
"Feelings, sir? What are those?" he asked. "I don't somehow seem to
know."
"No matter. Under the circumstances it is, perhaps, as well you
shouldn't know. Now, I want to ask you a few questions, my old friend--
and look here, I am going, first of all, to make you a little present."
I slipped my fingers into my waistcoat pocket, produced a
half-sovereign, and pressed it into the palm of his wrinkled old hand.
"To buy tobacco with--no, don't thank me," I said quickly, as he began
to express gratitude. "Now, answer a few questions I am going to put to
you. In the first place, how long have you been in Sir Charles'
service?"
"Sixteen years, come Michaelmas," he answered promptly. "I came from
Diss. I mind the time my father--"
"How did Sir Charles, or Mr. Thorold as he was then, first hear of you?"
"He was in Downham Market. I was caretaker for the Reverend George
Lattimer, and Sir Charles, I should say, Mr. Thorold, came to see the
house. I think he thought of buying it, but he didn't buy it. I showed
him into every room, I remember, and as he was leaving he put his hand
into his pocket, pulled out a sov'rin', and gave it to me, just as you
have done. And then he said to me, he said: `Ole man,' he said, `would
you like a better job than this?' Those were his very words, `Ole man,
would you like a better job than this?'"
He grinned and chuckled at the reflection, showing his toothless gums.
"And then he took you into his service. Did you come to London at
once?"
"Ay, next week he brought me up, and I've been here ever since--in this
house ever since. The Reverend George Lattimer wor vexed with Sir
Charles for a `stealing' me from his service, as he said. I mind in
Diss, when--"
"Was there any reason why Mr. Thorold should engage you in such a hurry?
Did he give any reason? It seems strange he should have engaged a man
of your age, living away in Norfolk, and brought you up to London at a
few days' notice."
"Oh, yes there was reason--there was a reason."
"And what was it?"
"Well, well, it was not p'raps 'xactly what you might call a `reason,'
it was what Sir Charles he calls a `stipilation.' `I have a stipilation
to make, Taylor,' he said, when he engaged me. `Yes, sir,' I said, `and
what might this, this stipilation be?' I said. `It's like this,
Taylor,' he said. `I'll engage you and pay you well, and you will come
with me to Lundon to-morrow, and you shall have two comfortable rooms in
my house,' those were his very words, sir, `and you will have little
work to do, 'cept when I am out of Lundon, and you have to look after
the house and act as caretaker. But there be a stipilation I must
make.' `And what might that stipilation be, sir?' I asked him. `It's
like this,' he said, a looking rather hard at me. `You must never see
or know anything that goes on in my Lundon 'ouse, when I am there, or
when I am not. If you see or hear anything, you must forget it. Do you
understand? Do we understand each other?' he said. And I have done
that, sir, ever since Sir Charles engaged me. Never have I seen what
happened in this house, nor have I heard what happened in this house,
nor known what happened in this house. I have kep' the stipilation, and
I've served the master well."
"And for serving your master well, and doing your duty, you are rewarded
by getting kicked out at a month's notice because of your `advanced
age.'"
The old man's eyes became suddenly moist as I said this, and I felt
sorry I had spoken.
"Did you see or hear much you ought to have forgotten?" I hazarded,
after a brief pause.
He peered up at me with an odd expression, then slowly shook his head.
"Have you actually forgotten all you saw and heard?" I inquired
carelessly, as I lit a cigarette, "or do you only pretend?"
"I dusn't say, sir," he answered. "I dusn't say."
He looked to right and left, as it seemed to me instinctively, and as
though to assure himself that no one else was present, that no one
overheard him. It was evident to me that there was somebody he feared.
Several times I tried tactfully to "draw" him, but to no purpose.
"I should like to look over the house again," I said at last. "I know
it well, for I stayed here often in days gone by, though I don't
recollect ever seeing you here. How long is it since Sir Charles stayed
here?"
"Three years come Lady Day," he answered.
"And has the house been empty ever since? Has it never been sub-let?"
"Never. Sir Charles never would sub-let it, though there were some who
wanted it."
"Well, I will look over it, I think," I said, moving to rise. "I'm
inclined to rent it myself; that's really why I am here."
He may, or may not, have believed the lie. Anyway, my suggestion filled
him with alarm. He got up out of his chair.
"You can't, you can't," he exclaimed, greatly perturbed. He pushed his
skinny hand into his jacket-pocket, and I heard him clutch his bunch of
keys. "The doors are all locked--all locked."
"You have the keys; give them to me."
"I dusn't, I dusn't, indeed. All, you are a gen'leman, sir, you won't
take the keys from an old man, sir, I know you won't."
"Sit down," I said, sharply.
Idle curiosity had prompted me to wish to go over the house. The old
man's anxiety that I should not do so settled my determination. My
thought travelled quickly.
"Have you a drop of anything to drink that you can give me?" I asked
suddenly. "I should like a little whisky--or anything else will do."
Again the expression of dismay came into his old eyes.
"Don't tempt me, sir, ah, don't tempt me!" he exclaimed. "Sir Charles
made me promise as long as I was with him I wouldn't touch a drop. I
did once. Oh, I did once."
"And what happened?"
He hid his face in his hands, as if to shut out some horrid memory.
"Don't ask me what happened, sir, don't ask me. And I swore I wouldn't
touch a drop again. And I haven't got a drop--except a cup of tea."
The kettle on the gas-stove had been boiling for some time. My
intention--an evil one--when I had asked for something alcoholic, had
been to induce the old man to drink with me until the effects of the
whisky should cause him to overcome his scruples and hand over his keys.
But tea!
At that moment my elbow rested on something hard in my pocket. Almost
at the same moment an idea flashed into my brain. I tried to dispel it,
but it wouldn't go. I allowed my mind to dwell upon it, and quickly it
obsessed me.
Why, I don't know, but since the chemist had returned the little flask
to me, after analysing its contents, I had carried it in my pocket
constantly. It was there now. It was the flask that my elbow had
pressed, recalling it to my mind.
"Twenty drops will send a strong man to sleep--for ever," he had said.
The words came back to me now. If it needed twenty drops to kill a
strong man, surely a small dose could with safety be administered to a
wiry little old man who, though decrepit, seemed still to possess
considerable vitality. But would it be quite safe? Did I dare risk it?
"A cup of tea will do just as well," I said carelessly, tossing aside my
cigarette. "No, don't you move. I see you have everything ready, and
there are cups up on the shelf. Let me make the tea. I like tea made
in one way only."