On arrival at Clipstone Street our first inquiry was to ascertain
whether the place was inhabited.
While we waited around the corner in Great Portland Street, one of
Pickering's men approached and rang the bell, but though he repeated the
summons several times, there was no response. Then, with easy agility,
he climbed over the railings and disappeared into the area.
Leaving the second man to give us warning if we were noticed, Pickering
and myself sauntered along to the house.
It was nearly eleven o'clock, and there were few passers-by, yet we did
not wish to be discovered, for our investigations were to be made
strictly in secret, prior to the police taking action.
Was I acting judiciously, I wondered? Would the revelation I had made
reflect upon Sybil herself? Would those men who used that house hurl
against her a terrible and relentless vendetta?
Whether wisely or unwisely, however, I had instituted the inquiry, and
could not now draw back.
The inspector himself took the small bag containing a
serviceable-looking housebreaker's jemmy and other tools, and as we came
to the area handed it down to the man below. Then both of us scrambled
over the locked gate and descended the steps to the basement door by
which it had been decided to enter.
The plain-clothes man was something of a mechanic, I could see, for he
was soon at work upon the lock, yet although he tried for a full quarter
of an hour to open the door, it resisted all his efforts.
"It's bolted," he declared at last, wiping the perspiration from his
brow. "We must try the front door. That's no doubt only on the latch.
If we force this they'll know we've been here, while if we force the
latch we can put that right again before we leave."
"Very well, Edwards," was the inspector's reply. "Go up alone and do
it. It won't do for us both to be up with you. Force the latch, and
let us trust to luck to be able to put it right again. We'll have to
lay a trap here--of that I feel sure."
The man ascended to the door above us, but scarcely had he done so when
we heard the hoarse cry of "_Star_--extrar spe-shall!" from the further
end of the street--the pre-arranged signal warning us of someone
approaching.
Edwards therefore slipped down the steps and walked in the opposite
direction until the two men who had entered the street had passed. Then
Edwards sprang up the steps again, and after trying the lock with a
number of keys we suddenly heard a low crack, and then there was
silence.
"All right," he whispered to us over the railings, and a minute later we
were standing inside the dark hall of the house wherein I had so nearly
lost my life. Edwards closed the door behind us noiselessly, and we
were compelled to grope forward in the pitch darkness, for the inspector
deemed it wise to draw down the blinds before lighting our lanterns, for
fear our movements should attract notice from without.
Edwards entered the front room on the right, stumbling over some
furniture, and pulled down the dark holland blind, while a moment later
a rapping on the front door announced the arrival of the man who had
been watching to cover our movements.
The policemen's lanterns, when lit, revealed an old-fashioned room
furnished solidly in leather--a dining-room, though there were no
evidences of it having been recently used. Behind it, entered by
folding doors, was another sitting-room with heavy well-worn furniture
covered with old-fashioned horsehair. In the room was a modern roll-top
writing-table, the drawers of which Pickering reserved for future
investigation.
"Be careful of the stairs," I said, as Edwards started to ascend them.
"The dangerous ones are nearly at the top of the second storey. There's
no danger on the first floor."
"All right, sir," replied the man. "I'll be wary, you bet!" and we
climbed to the first floor, the rooms of which, to our surprise, were
all empty, devoid of any furniture save two or three broken chairs. In
one room was a cupboard, which, however, was locked.
Again we turned to the stairs, Edwards and his companion ascending each
stair slowly and trying the one higher with their hands. They were
covered with new carpet of art green, different to the first flight,
which were covered in red.
When a little more than half-way up to the top landing, Edwards suddenly
exclaimed,--
"Here it is, sir!" and instantly we ascended to his side.
Kneeling on the stairs, he pressed his hands on the step above,
whereupon that portion of the stairway up to the landing swung forward
upon a hinge, disclosing a black abyss beneath.
I looked into it and shuddered. Even Pickering himself could not
restrain an expression of surprise and horror when he realised how
cunningly planned was that death-trap. The first six stairs from the
top seemed to hang upon hinges from the landing. Therefore with the
weight of a person upon them they would fall forward and pitch the
unfortunate victim backwards before he could grasp the handrail, causing
him to fall into the pit below.
"Well," remarked Pickering, amazed, as he pushed open the stairs and
peered into the dark blackness below, "of all the devilish contrivances
I've ever seen in my twenty-one years' experience in London, this is one
of the most simple and yet the most ingenious and most fatal?"
"No doubt there's a secret way to render the stairs secure," I remarked.
"No doubt, but as we don't know it, Edwards, one of you had better go
down and get something to lay over the stairs--a piece of board, a
table--anything that's long enough. We don't want to be pitched down
there ourselves."
"No, sir," remarked Edwards' companion, whose name was Marvin. "I
wouldn't like to be, for one. But I daresay lots of 'em have gone down
there at times."
"Most probably," snapped the inspector, dismissing the man at once to
get the board.
"Bring up the jemmy as well," he added, over the banisters. "We may
want it."
A few minutes later the two men brought up a long oak settle from the
hall, and bridging the fatal gulf, held it in position, while we passed
over, not, however, without difficulty, as the incline was so great.
Then when we were over we held it while they also scrambled up.
To the left was a closed door--the room from which had come the sound of
Eric's voice on that fatal night. I recognised it in a moment, for it
was pale green, picked out in a darker shade.
I opened it, and Pickering shone his lamp within. The blinds were up,
but Edwards rushed and pulled them down. Then, on glancing round, I saw
it was a pretty well-furnished room, another sitting-room, quite
different from those below, as it was decorated in modern taste, with
furniture covered with pale yellow silk and comfortable easy chairs, as
though its owner were fond of luxury. The odour of stale cigars still
hung in the curtains. Perhaps it was the vampire's den, a place where
he could at all events be safe from intrusion with those fatal stairs
between him and the street.
I explained my theory to the inspector, and he was inclined to agree
with me.
Upon the floor lay a copy of an evening paper nearly a month old, while
the London dust over everything told us that at least it had not been
occupied recently.
In that room poor Eric had defied his captors. I looked eagerly around
for any traces of him. Yes. My eye fell upon one object--a silver
cigarette-case that I had given him two years ago!
The tell-tale object was lying upon the mantelshelf unheeded, tossed
there, perhaps, on the night of the crime.