PHILIP REILLY TELLS A STRANGE STORY
DURING the three days that followed I kept watch in Cornwall Road,
haunting the neighbouring thoroughfares of Ladbroke Grove, Silchester
Road, Ledbury Road, and Powis Square, watching the movements of Miss
Bristowe, and ever on the alert for the coming of that tall,
fair-moustached individual, as the man Purvis had been described.
The girl whom I had found so charming went out often—once down to
Catford to visit friends. Apparently she lived in apartments, and did
her own shopping. She, however, had no male companion, and so close a
watch did I keep upon the house that I arrived at the conclusion that
Purvis did not live there after all.
Staffurth had grown very uneasy about his nephew, and although we put
our wits together we could devise no plan by which the mystery of his
disappearance might be solved. That the persons who were our rivals in
the affair would not stick at trifles had already been proved, hence our
apprehensions were of the gravest. Not being aware of the identity of
these people we were heavily handicapped, for they were most probably
cognizant of my every movement while I remained utterly in the dark as
to theirs.
Matters were certainly growing serious. I had received a letter from Mr.
Kenway telling me that he was compelled to remove his furniture from the
Manor House on the morrow, therefore I would be obliged to go down to
Caldecott again and do watch-dog duty. It was most important that Reilly
should be with me, for I intended to commence a search throughout the
house as soon as the Kenways had left. For that reason I bought a pick,
shovel, and a quantity of other tools I thought might be useful, and had
sent them down, packed in a case in order not to excite suspicion.
Sitting in my own room at Chelsea I pondered over the future, trying to
decide upon some judicious plan of action. It was long past midnight. My
green-shaded oil lamp was burning low and had already begun to splutter,
but I could see no way out of the cul-de-sac. My first thoughts were, of
course, for the safety of Philip, and he being still missing I did not
feel myself justified in carrying the search farther before the mystery
of his disappearance was cleared up.
I had found, on my return home, a letter from Seal, posted from Smyrna.
It was a rather grimy note, bluff, brief, and written in that heavy hand
that I knew so well in the log of the _Thrush_. The chief paragraph of
the letter ran:—
“I hope you’ve got something out of Old Mystery by this time and also
that you’re full sail, with a fair wind, towards that treasure. Don’t
write to me, as I leave to-morrow straight for Fresh Wharf, and hope to
see you within a fortnight.”
The clock on my mantelshelf struck two, and I was about to put out my
light and turn in, when of a sudden there came a violent ringing of the
bell. It startled me at that hour, and pulling aside my curtains I
looked down into the street, only to discover, to my joy, that Philip
Reilly stood below, looking up anxiously at my window.
“Come down, doc, and let me in!” he cried, and in response I soon
unchained the front door and was wringing his hand.
Walking before me he ascended the stairs and not until he had come into
the light of my room did I notice the change wrought in him.
“Good heavens, my dear fellow! Wherever have you been?” I cried, glaring
at him in surprise, for his clothes seemed half torn from his back, his
face dirty with a stubbly beard, as though he had not shaved for a week,
while his trousers were caked with mud and his white face bore a nasty
cut only half healed. It extended almost from the eye to the chin, and
with the blood still caked there, gave him a hideous and forbidding
appearance.
“Ah!” he gasped, throwing himself into an arm-chair, “you may well ask.
I’ve had a splendid time of it. Have you got a drop of brandy or
anything by you? I feel faint.”
He looked it, and I rushed to my cupboard and got out a bottle of
Martell and a siphon of soda.
I allowed him to take a long steady drink before questioning him, in the
meantime noting the terrible gash on his face. I saw also that his left
hand had been cut on the inside.
“Well,” I said, “we’ve all been most anxious about you, fearing
something bad had happened. Tell me all about it.”
“Anxious?” he laughed. “Not more anxious than I’ve been about myself, I
can tell you. As for what happened, well I must collect my thoughts in
order to tell you how it all began and what was the ultimate result. But
before I begin I may as well give you my own opinion, and that is, I
don’t believe that we shall ever find that treasure.”
“Why not?”
“Because the others know far more about it than we do,” was his reply.
“When I resolved to take a share in the investigation I never dreamed
that the game could be such a desperate one as it is. By Jove! those
fellows would murder both of us without the least compunction. We must
go armed in future.”
“But what occurred to you?” I asked, all anxiety to learn the reason of
his long silence.
“Well,” he said, finishing his brandy at one gulp; “it happened like
this. When I left you I came up to town and started to keep observation
on that newsagent’s in Sterndale Road. The job was a terrible wearying
one, but I was rewarded on the third evening by seeing the man you
described—tall, fair, and freckled—call for a letter. Unobserved by
him. I followed him home to St. Peter’s Square, Hammersmith. Then I
resolved to exercise a strict vigil over that house in order to find out
all about its inmates. During the following day I discovered that Purvis
was a bachelor of means and was very often in the habit of receiving
visits from men of rather shady character. By constant watchfulness I
came to know by sight all these men, five in number, including one named
Bennett.”
“Bennett?” I interrupted. “I wonder if he’s Black Bennett?”
“Don’t know,” was my friend’s rejoinder. “I can only tell you that they
are as fine specimens of rascally adventurers as can be found at this
moment in London. Purvis, being a good billiard player, often spends his
evenings at the Crown, in Hammersmith Broadway, playing sometimes with
Bennett and sometimes with one or other of his companions. Having
obtained this piece of knowledge from observation, I took a bedroom at
the Crown, in order that I might be able to saunter into the
billiard-room at odd hours. As you know, I can play a fair game, and my
object was to get into touch with Purvis by playing with him.
“I had not long to wait, for one evening he was there alone, and having
made some casual remarks he invited me to play. From the first he seemed
somewhat surprised to find that my form was slightly better than his,
and before long I saw from his play that he was used to the ruses of
sharks and thieves. He seemed to me to be rather well educated, the kind
of man whose exterior was that of a gentleman, but who lives by his
wits. He offered to bet me a sovereign on the game, and, in order to
content him, I agreed. Very quickly the game was entirely in my hands,
but so that he might become friendly I allowed him to win and paid him
the sovereign.
“Bennett came in hurriedly just than and whispered something in an
undertone, whereupon Purvis excused himself from playing further, put on
his coat, and followed his friend out. That mysterious message aroused
my curiosity; therefore as soon as the door was closed I threw on my
coat and slipped out just in time to see the pair enter a hansom. They
drove away and I drove after them, at a respectable distance, in order
that they should not detect my vigilance.
“We drove for more than half an hour through Shepherd’s Bush and Kensal
Green, until we entered the Edgware Road, near Kilburn Station, and,
crossing it, Purvis and Bennett alighted before a house in a dark
side-street. When they had disappeared inside I dismissed my own cab and
took a good look at the exterior of the place. It was a semi-detached
house of rather neglected appearance, approached by a small strip of
garden lying behind the iron railings. The place was in total darkness,
however—not even a light over the front door. They had entered so
quickly that I believe they must have used a latch-key.
“Half-a-dozen times I passed and repassed the dark silent place,
wondering what was the object of their journey there, until, the blinds
being up and the front rooms all being unlit, it occurred to me that
whatever was taking place was at the rear of the premises. So, resolving
to try and ascertain for myself the reason of the hurried visit, I
entered the little garden and crept silently round to the back, where in
a room on the first floor was a light, and even from where I stood I
could hear men’s voices. I saw that the yellow holland blind, having
been pulled down violently, had given way from the roller, and a piece
hung down. This would afford me a view of the room if only I could climb
high enough. Now, beneath the window in question was a lean-to
conservatory, built out from what was, I supposed, the drawing-room, but
upon the roof of such a fragile structure I dared not venture. I noticed
some iron piping going straight up, and, aided by the wooden lattice on
the wall, it occurred to me that I might safely accomplish the feat. As
you know, I am rather fond of climbing; therefore I quickly took off my
boots and commenced to work my way up towards the coign of vantage.
“To reach a level high enough, however, was a task much more difficult
than I had at first anticipated, especially as the creeper-covered
lattice work, being old and rotten, gave way almost each time I grasped
it. At last, however, swinging myself over, I succeeded in clutching
what seemed like a safe piece of trellis close to the spot that afforded
a view into the room. Just at that very moment, when my eyes came to the
window where hung the corner of the blind untacked from its roller, a
loud scream issued forth—the agonized cry of a woman.
“Clinging with hands and feet to the insecure woodwork I craned my neck
until I could get a view of the interior of the room. The sight that
greeted me was one that I was certainly unprepared for. The apartment
was a back parlour, fairly well furnished. Within stood Purvis, Bennett,
and two other men whom I recognized as constant visitors to St. Peter’s
Square. The door was open, and one of the men stood holding by the arm a
young, well-dressed woman. She had evidently been dragged in there
against her will, for she had covered her pale face with her hand to
shut out from her eyes the terrible object she had been brought there to
see—the corpse of a young man.”
“What!” I cried, starting up; “have they actually committed murder?”
“I suppose so,” was Reilly’s reply. “I merely tell you what I saw with
my own eyes. The dead man was in evening dress, and was lying on his
back on the carpet, his limbs slightly drawn up. There was on his
shirt-front a large ugly stain of blood, while his face was as white as
paper. The unfeeling brutes actually compelled the poor girl to touch
the dead man’s face, and she drew her fingers away from its cold contact
as though she had been stung. Then Bennett, addressing her with biting
sarcasm, said: ‘You didn’t believe us, miss, but you’ll believe now, I
think, and recollect that if you do not act exactly as we order you’ll
be served in the same way. You know me well enough to be aware that I
never repeat a threat—I carry it out!’
“‘You are cruel—inhuman!’ she cried, facing the four men, with an angry
passion suddenly lighting up her face. ‘He had done no harm, and you
killed him!—killed him because you are cowards!’ ‘Enough girl!’ cried
Bennett, and raising his fist he struck her on the mouth, cutting her
lip, while the other blackguards stood there, not attempting to
interfere. Purvis gave the body of the dead man a contemptuous kick, and
then bending down took the watch and chain from the poor fellow’s pocket
and, handing it to the man who stood in the doorway, said, ‘Here’s a
souvenir of to-night’s work. Like to have it?’ The bearded ruffian
grinned and slipped the dead man’s property into his pocket. ‘You shall
pay for this!’ the girl cried, defiantly, staunching the blood with her
handkerchief. ‘Oh!’ cried Bennett, ‘you dare to say a word and the rats
will make a meal off you pretty quick—remember that! There!’ he
exclaimed to the man who had pocketed the watch and who still held her
arm, ‘take the wench away! She’ll know her manners before long.’ She was
dragged out, and I heard her and her captor descending the stairs. Then,
from my perilous position, I could overhear the other three discussing
what should be done with the body, whereupon it was decided to convey it
in a travelling-trunk to the cloak-room of one of the termini—which of
them was not stated. I watched the trunk brought in—one of those large
ones, of compressed cane—and saw them first mutilate the face of the
corpse beyond all recognition.
“Then they packed the body in, locking the trunk and securing it with
cord. This done, a careful examination was made of the room. One or two
blood-stains were removed by Purvis with water and a sponge, and then
all three carried the trunk down to the hall to await a four-wheeled
cab. Purvis and Bennett returned again to the room where the light
burned, and I heard the latter say: ‘That’s one the less—and without
much trouble either. He might have proved a nuisance.’ Whereupon Purvis
remarked: ‘The girl was, I believe, in love with him.’ ‘Love be hanged!’
Bennett returned, roughly. ‘That’s the very reason why I had her brought
here—to show her that his death was due to her association with him.
She’ll blame herself for the tragedy now, and be our servant more then
ever; don’t you see?’
“Then a few minutes later, the man who had gone to the nearest cab-rank
returned, and all four went out, after extinguishing the lamp. I heard
the cab drive away, when it suddenly occurred to me that I ought to
attempt to follow it and ascertain where they deposited the evidence of
their crime. In my haste I made a false move and felt the woodwork
suddenly break from my hands. I tried to steady myself but could not,
and, overbalancing backwards, fell with a crash through the conservatory
roof, alighting upon the concrete floor.
“I know no more, save that when I came to I was lying in bed in an
hospital with a policeman sitting by my side—under arrest for attempted
burglary, they said. In two days I was sufficiently well to be taken to
the police-court, where, having refused to give any account of myself, I
was sent to prison for fourteen days as a rogue and vagabond. I saw it
was useless to recount what I had witnessed in that house, as the marks
of the crime had already been carefully obliterated; hence I did my
fourteen days, which expired this morning.”
“But the woman?” I exclaimed, utterly dumfounded by his startling story.
“Had you seen her before?”
“Yes, once, while I was waiting outside the newsagent’s in Sterndale
Road. She had called there on two occasions.”
“Was it Miss Bristowe?” I asked, describing her.
“Exactly as you say; dark, pretty, with a rather pointed chin; dressed
in black,” he answered.
Then a strange thought took possession of me. I wondered if by her
refusal to conduct me to her brother’s bedside at Blackheath on that
memorable night I had escaped a similar fate to that dead unknown.
The veil of mystery was certainly growing more than ever impenetrable.