IN DIXON'S RENTS.
At the sound of Alan's voice Mrs. Warrender started like a guilty
thing. He was astonished beyond measure at finding her in the same
unsavory neighborhood as himself, bound, for all he knew, on the same
errand. At all events, it was surely more than a coincidence that she
should be on the threshold of Gramp's dwelling, so to speak.
"Mrs. Warrender," he said, gravely lifting his hat, "this is indeed a
surprise. Of course, you know what has happened at Heathton?"
"I know all," answered the woman, in a rich, low voice. "Jarks, the
sexton, told my servant this morning what has happened to poor Julian,
and that his body has been found in the Marlow vault."
"Are you sure you did not know of it last night?" asked Alan quietly.
"Mr. Thorold!"
The color rushed to her face.
"I mean that the letter which disturbed you so much might have hinted
at the murder."
"A letter? How do you know I got a letter last night?"
"The Rector called to break the news to you this morning, and your
servant told him that you already knew it; also that you had left for
London--with your jewels, Mrs. Warrender," added Alan significantly.
"And you followed me!" cried the woman savagely. "Do you intend to
accuse me of my husband's murder?"
"I certainly do not; and I did not follow you. I am here on the same
errand as yourself."
She looked terrified.
"How do you know what my errand is?"
"Because I can put two and two together, Mrs. Warrender. I also
received a letter--at least, Miss Marlow did, and from the same
man--the man who lives here."
"Cicero Gramp?"
"That is the name. You see, I was right. Does he intend to blackmail
you also, and did you bring your jewels to satisfy his demands?"
She looked down the court. They were comparatively alone. A few ragged
children were playing about, and some slatternly women were watching
them from doorways. A man or two, brutalized by drink, hovered in the
distance. But a smart constable, who passed and repassed the entrance
of the cul-de-sac, casting inquisitive glances at Alan and his
companion, kept these birds of prey from any nearer approach. Finding
that they were out of earshot, Mrs. Warrender produced a letter and
handed it to Alan. It was written on the same thick, creamy paper, and
in the same elegant handwriting as had been the communication to
Sophy. He read it in silence. As he had expected, it informed Mrs.
Warrender that her husband was dead, and that Cicero Gramp, on payment
of two hundred pounds, could inform her where the body could be found.
His price had evidently gone up. But what struck Alan most was the
nature of the information now offered. Cicero declared that he could
tell the widow where her husband's body was to be found. The body had
already been discovered in the Marlow vault. Ergo, Cicero Gramp knew
it was there. If so, had he seen the murder committed and the body
taken into the vault? It seemed probable. Indeed, it seemed likely
that he could solve the whole mystery; but, strangely enough, the
prospect did not seem to afford Mr. Thorold much satisfaction. He
handed back the letter with a dissatisfied smile.
"I think you have wasted your time coming up," he said. "Jarks, no
doubt, told your servant that the doctor's body had already been
discovered. Why, then, come up to pay blackmail?"
"I want to find out who killed Julian," she said.
"Then you are on your way to see this man?"
"Yes." She shuddered. "But this terrible place. I am afraid."
"Then why come here? I am going to see Mr. Gramp on Miss Marlow's
behalf. If you like, I will represent you also."
"No, thank you; I must see him myself."
"Very well. I suppose you are not staying in town?"
"Yes, at the Norfolk Hotel. I shall remain until to-morrow, so as to
sell my jewels and bribe this man."
"There will be no need to sell your jewels," said Alan soothingly. "I
will be responsible for the blackmail. Have you the jewels with you?"
"No, I dared not bring them. He might have robbed me. They are in my
bedroom at the hotel."
"Then go back at once and look after them. I will bring this man there
in, let us say, an hour."
"Thank you, Mr. Thorold," she said. "I accept your offer. I am really
afraid to go down that slum."
He gazed after her fine figure as she walked hurriedly away. Somehow
that haughty air and resolute gait did not fit in well with her
expression of fear. It was curious. He felt there was something
strange about Mrs. Warrender. However, she had been open enough with
him, so he did not choose to think badly of her.
The man he sought was not easy to find. Mr. Cramp had his own reasons
for keeping clear of the police. The whole alley was known by the name
of Dixon's Rents, and Thorold had no idea in which of the houses to
ask for him. He questioned a stunted street Arab with wolfish eyes,
emphasizing his request with a sixpence.
"Oh, Cicero!" yelped the lad, biting the coin. "Yuss, he's round
about. Dunno! Y'ain't a 'tec?"
"What's that?"
"A de-tec-tive," drawled the boy. "Cicero ain't wanted, is he?"
"Not by me. Is Cicero generally--er--wanted?" inquired Alan
delicately.
The urchin closed one eye rapidly, and grinned with many teeth. But,
instead of replying he took to shouting hoarsely for "Mother Ginger."
The surrounding population popped out of their burrows like so many
rabbits, and for the next few minutes "Mother Ginger" was asked for
vigorously. Alan looked round at the ragged, blear-eyed slum-dwellers,
but could see nothing of the lady in question. Suddenly his arm was
twitched, and he turned to find a dwarf no higher than his waist
trying to attract his attention. Mother Ginger, for it was she, had a
huge head of red hair, fantastically decked with ribbons of many
colors. Her dress, too, was rainbow-hued, like Joseph's coat. She had
carpet slippers on her huge feet, and white woolen gloves on her large
hands. Her face was as large as a frying-pan and of a pallid hue, with
expressionless blue eyes and a big mouth. Alan saw in her a female
Quasimodo.
"Wot is it?" she inquired. Evidently Mother Ginger was vain of her
finery and of the attention she attracted. "Is it Mr. Gramp you want,
m'dimber-cove?"
"Yes. Can you take me to him?" asked Thorold, wincing at the
penny-whistle quality of her voice. "Is he at home?"
"P'r'aps he is, p'r'aps he ain't," retorted Mother Ginger, with a
fascinating leer. "Wot d'ye want with him?"
"This will explain." And Alan put Cicero's letter into her hand. "Give
him that."
She nodded, croaked like a bull-frog, and vanished amongst the crowd.
Mr. Thorold found himself the center of attraction and the object of
remark.
This somewhat unpleasant position was put an end to by the appearance
of Mother Ginger, who clawed Alan, and drew him into a house at the
end of the court. The tatterdemalions gave a yell of disappointment at
the escape of their prey, and their prey congratulated himself that he
had not made his visit at night. He felt that he might have fared
badly in this modern Court of Miracles. However, it appeared that he
was safe under the protection of Mother Ginger. With the activity of a
monkey, she conducted him up a dirty staircase and into a bare room
furnished with a bed, a chair, and a table. Here Alan was greeted by a
bulky creature in a gorgeous red dressing-gown, old and greasy, but
still pretentious. He had no difficulty in recognizing the man whom he
had seen reciting on the parade at Bournemouth.
"I welcome you, Mr. Thorold," said Cicero in his best Turveydrop
style. "Mother Ginger, depart."
To get rid of the woman, Mr. Thorold placed a shilling in her concave
claw, upon which she executed a kind of war-dance, and vanished with a
yelp of delight. Left alone with the pompous vagabond, the young man
took the only chair, and faced his host, who was sitting majestically
on the bed, his red dressing-gown wrapped round him in regal style.
"So you are Cicero Gramp?" began Alan. "I have seen you----"
"At Bournemouth," interrupted the professor of elocution and
eloquence. "True, I was there for the benefit of my health."
"And to blackmail Miss Marlow."
"Blackmail--a painful word, Mr. Thorold."
"How do you know my name?"
"It is part of my business to know all names," was the answer--"_ex
nihilo nihil fit_, if you understand the tongue of my namesake. If I
did not know what I desire to know, my income would be small indeed. I
visited the salubrious village of Heathton, and learned there that
Miss Marlow and Mr. Thorold, to whom she was engaged, were recreating
themselves at the seaside with an inferior companion. Bournemouth was
the seaside, and I went there. On seeing a young lady with a spinster
and a gentleman in attendance, I noted Miss Marlow, Mr. Thorold, and
Miss Parsh."
"And made yourself scarce?"
"I did," admitted Cicero frankly. "I departed as soon as you were out
of sight, knowing that my letter would be delivered, and that you
might call in the police."
"Ah, a guilty conscience!"
"Far from it." Cicero flung open his dressing-gown and struck his
chest. "Here purity and innocence and peace are enthroned. I did not
wish to be taken by the minions of the law, lest they should wrest
from me for nothing what I should prefer to sell for a few pounds.
Besides, I wished to see you in my own house. A poor establishment,"
said Mr. Gramp, looking round the meager room, "but mine own."
He bowed gracefully, as if for applause.
"Come, Mr. Gramp," said Alan diplomatically, "let us get to business.
What do you know about this matter?"
"About the hundred pounds?" asked the man with an appearance of great
simplicity.
"I'll pay you that, more or less, when I know what your information is
worth."
"More or less won't do, Mr. Thorold. I want, from Miss Marlow or from
you, one hundred pounds."
"I know, and two hundred from Mrs. Warrender."
"Ah!"--Cicero did not move a muscle--"she has told you that I can give
you information about the body of her husband?"
"Yes, and she has come to town to see you. However, I have intercepted
her, and she is waiting to see you in a place I know of. You must come
with me, Mr. Gramp."
But Cicero shook his head uneasily.
"An Englishman's house is his castle," he said. "This is my house, my
keep, my donjon. _Quod erat demonstrandum!_"
"Oh, confound your dictionary Latin!" cried Alan impatiently. "You are
afraid of the police?"
"Far from it, Mr. Thorold. I have nothing to fear from them. For one
hundred pounds I lay bare my heart."
"I'll give you fifty pounds on condition you tell me all you know.
From Mrs. Warrender you won't receive a penny."
"Then she shall never know where lies the body of her late lamented
partner."
"She knows that already," said Alan coolly.
"Ha!"--Cicero gave a dramatic start--"you seek to deceive me!"
"Indeed, I do nothing of the sort; I found the body myself."
"Where, may I ask?" said Gramp, his thoughts going back to the hut on
the heath.
"In the Marlow vault, in the coffin of the dead man who was carried
away."
Cicero's jaw fell. He was truly surprised.
"How the devil did it get there from the hut?" he said.
"The hut--what hut?"
"I want my money before I tell you that, Mr. Thorold."
Alan took five ten-pound notes out of his pocket.
"Here is fifty pounds," he said; "it will be yours if you tell me all
you know, and come with me to see Mrs. Warrender."
"Aha!" Cicero's eyes glittered, and his fingers longed to clutch the
money. Such wealth had not been his for many a long day. "And the
police?"
"I thought you did not fear them?" was the reply.
"I don't, for I have done nothing to put myself in the power of the
law. But I am afraid, as this body has been found, that you will have
me arrested, and so I shall lose the money."
"If you are innocent of the murder and the sacrilege, you won't be
arrested, Gramp. And the money I will give you after we have seen Mrs.
Warrender."
"On your word of honor as a gentleman?"
"Yes, on my word of honor. If you can throw light on this mystery, and
bring home these crimes to the person who has committed them, I am
quite willing to pay you."
"I don't know about bringing home the crimes, Mr. Thorold," said
Cicero, rising, "but I will tell you all I know in the presence of
Mrs. Warrender. Permit me to assume my visiting garb. Where is the
lady?"
"At the Norfolk Hotel."
"I know it. Many a glass which cheers have I drained there. _Dulce
desipere in loco_. You don't know Horace, perhaps?"
"I suspect you don't," said Alan, annoyed by this hedge-Latin. "Hurry
up!"
"Fifty pounds, Mr. Thorold."
"After our interview with Mrs. Warrender," amended the other
significantly.
"Command my services," said Cicero, and rapidly put on his frock-coat,
battered hat and gloves.
After he had brushed his greasy broadcloth, and dusted his large boots
with the red bandana, he announced that he was ready.
The oddly-assorted pair proceeded to the Norfolk Hotel through the
Lambeth slums. Cicero seemed to be very well known and very popular.
He exchanged greetings with shady acquaintances, patted ragged
children on the head, and arrived at the hotel swelling with pride. He
felt that he had shown Alan he was a man of consequence. Arrived at
their destination, they were shown by a slipshod waiter into a shabby
sitting-room on the first floor where they found Mrs. Warrender. She
rose, and on seeing Cicero, gave a shriek of surprise.
"Bill!" she cried with a gasp.
"Clara Maria!" exclaimed the so-called Cicero, "my beloved sister!
What a surprise!"