Then, after a further chat, I pressed half-a-crown into his ready palm
and left.
My next visit was to the estate agents in Pall Mall, where, presenting
myself as a possible tenant, the clerk at whose table I had taken a
seat said--
"Well, sir, Althorp House is in such a bad, neglected state that we do
not now-a-days send clients to view it. Old Mrs. Carpenter died some
thirteen years ago, and according to her will the place had to be left
undisturbed, and let furnished. The solicitors placed it in our hands,
but the property until the twenty years have elapsed, is quite
untenantable. The whole place has now gone to rack and ruin. We have a
number of other furnished houses which I will be most delighted to
give you orders to view."
In pretence that I wanted a house I allowed him to select three for
me, and while doing so learnt some further particulars regarding the
dark house in Porchester Terrace. As far as he knew, the story of Mrs.
Carpenter's relatives taking secret possession was a myth.
The caretaker had been withdrawn two years ago, and the place simply
locked up and left. If burglars broke in, there was nothing of value
for them to take, he added.
Thus the result of my inquiries went to confirm my suspicion that the
ingenious pair of malefactors had taken possession of the place
temporarily, in order to pursue their nefarious plans.
There was a garden at the rear. Might it not also be the grave wherein
the bodies of their innocent victims were interred?
That afternoon, at four, I met Jack Marlowe in White's, and as we sat
in our big arm-chairs gazing through the windows out into the sunshine
of St. James's Street, I asked him whether he would be prepared to
accompany me upon an adventurous visit to a house in Bayswater.
The long-legged, clean-shaven, clean-limbed fellow with the fairish
hair and merry grey eyes looked askance for a moment, and then
inquired--
"What's up, old man? What's the game?" He was always eager for an
adventure, I knew.
"Well, the fact is I want to look around a house in Porchester
Terrace, that's all. I want to search the garden when nobody's about."
"Why?"
"In order to satisfy myself about something."
"Become an amateur detective--eh, Owen?"
"Well, my curiosity has certainly been aroused, and I intend to go to
the house late to-night and look round the garden. Will you come?"
He was one of the best of good fellows, overflowing with good humour
and good nature. His face seemed to wear a perpetual smile of
contentment.
"Of course. But tell me more," he asked.
"I will--afterwards," I said. "Let's dine together somewhere, and turn
in at the Empire afterwards. We don't want to get to Bayswater before
midnight, as we mustn't be seen. Don't dress. I'll bring an electric
torch."
"I've got one. I'll bring mine also," he replied, at once entering
into the spirit of the adventure. "Only you might tell me what's in
the wind, Owen," he added.
"I'll tell you afterwards, old chap," I promised.
And then we separated, agreeing to meet at eight at a well-known
restaurant which we often patronized.
That night, when the curtain fell at the Empire, we both went forth
and strolled along to St. James's Street to get a drink at the club.
The later we went forth on our nocturnal inquiry, the better.
I recollected that look of terror and astonishment on Forbes's
countenance when his gaze had met mine outside the bank--a look which
showed that he had believed me to be safely out of the way. He had
never dreamed I was still alive! Hence it seemed to me certain that
the pair of malefactors, having secured the money, would at once make
themselves scarce. How, I wondered, could they have known of Jack
Marlowe, unless they had watched us both in secret, as seemed most
likely.
That they would not return again to that house of horror in Bayswater
seemed certain.
Towards one o'clock we took a taxi off the stand outside White's and
drove to Porchester Terrace, alighting some distance from our
destination. We passed the constable strolling slowly in the opposite
direction, and when at last we gained the rusty iron gate we both
slipped inside, quietly and unobserved.
The street lamp in the vicinity lit up the front of the dingy house,
therefore fearing observation from any of the servants next door, we
moved noiselessly in the shadow of the bushes along the side of the
premises, past a small conservatory, many panes of glass of which were
broken, and so into the darkness of the small back garden, which
seemed knee-deep in grass and weeds, and which, from its position,
hemmed in by blank walls, could not be overlooked save from the house
itself.
All was silence. The scene was weird in the extreme. In the distance
could be heard the faint hum of the never-ceasing traffic of London.
Above, showed the dark windows of that grim old place wherein I had so
nearly lost my life.
"I want to examine this garden thoroughly," I whispered to Jack, and
then I switched on my torch and showed a light around. A tangle of
weeds and undergrowth was revealed--a tangle so great that to
penetrate it without the use of a bill-hook appeared impossible.
Still we went forward, examining everywhere with our powerful electric
lights.
"What will the people say?" laughed Jack. "They'll take us for
burglars, old chap!"
"The place is empty," I replied. "Our only fear is of the police. To
them we would be compelled to make an explanation--and that's just
what I don't want to do."
For some time we carefully searched, conversing only in whispers. My
hands were scratched, and stung by nettles, and Jack had his coat
badly torn by thorns. The garden had been allowed to run wild for all
the years since old Mrs. Carpenter's death, and the two ash trees had
spread until their thick branches overshadowed a large portion of the
ground.
Beneath one of these trees I suddenly halted as an ejaculation escaped
me. Near the trunk, and in such a position that it would not be seen
even from the windows of the house, yawned a hole, and at its side a
mound of newly-dug earth.
"Ah!" I cried. "This is what I've been in search of!" The discovery
revealed a ghastly truth. I shuddered at the sight of it.
"What, that hole?" asked Jack, in a low voice as we approached and
peered into it. I judged it to be about three feet or so in depth.
"What a funny thing to search for!"
"That hole, Jack, was intended for a man's grave!" I whispered
hoarsely, "and the man intended was _myself_!"
"You!" he gasped. "What do you mean, Owen?"
"I mean that that grave yonder was dug in order to conceal my dead
body," was my low, meaning answer. "And I fear--fear very much--that
the remains of others who have met with foul play have been concealed
here!"
"You mean that murder was actually intended!" he exclaimed in
astonishment. "When?"
"Last night. I was entrapped here and narrowly escaped."
"How? Tell me all about it," he urged.
"Later on. Not here," I said. "Let us see if there is any further
evidence of recent digging," and together we examined the ground
beneath the second tree.
Presently Jack in the course of searching about, came to a spot where
the ground seemed perceptibly softer. My stick sank in, while in other
parts the ground seemed hard. Beneath the trees the weeds and grass
grew thinly, and I presumed that the miscreants could work there under
the canopy of leaves without fear of observation.
I bent down and carefully examined the surface, which, for about four
feet square, bore plain traces of having recently been moved.
Something had evidently been interred there. Yet tiny fresh blades of
green were just springing up, as though grass-seed had been sprinkled
over in order to obliterate traces of the recent excavation.
"What do you think of it?" I inquired of my companion.
"Well, perhaps somebody has really been buried here--eh?" he said.
"Don't you think you ought to go and tell the police at once?"