A NOCTURNAL ADVENTURE
I
Having exchanged the clock for seven shillings and badly beaten the
pawnbroker's assistant in a verbal duel, Bindle strolled along towards
Walham Green in the happiest frame of mind.
The night was young, it was barely nine o'clock, and his whole being
yearned for some adventure. He was still preoccupied with the subject
of larceny. His wits, Bindle argued, were of little or no use in the
furniture-removing business, where mediocrity formed the standard of
excellence. There would never be a Napoleon of furniture-removers, but
there had been several Napoleons of crime. If a man were endowed with
genius, he should also be supplied with a reasonable outlet for it.
Walking meditatively along the North End Road, he was awakened to
realities by his foot suddenly striking against something that jingled.
He stooped and picked up two keys attached to a ring, which he swiftly
transferred to one of his pockets and passed on. Someone might be
watching him.
Two minutes later he drew forth his find for examination. Attached to
the ring was a metal tablet, upon which were engraved the words: "These
keys are the property of Professor Sylvanus Conti, 13 Audrey Mansions,
Queen's Club, West Kensington, W. Reward for their return, 2s. 6d."
The keys were obviously those of the outer door of a block of mansions
and the door of a flat. If they were returned the reward was two
shillings and sixpence, which would bring up the day's takings to nine
shillings and sixpence. If, on the other hand, the keys were retained
for the purpose of----
At that moment Bindle's eye caught sight of a ticket upon a stall
littered with old locks and keys, above which blazed and spluttered a
paraffin torch. "Keys cut while you wait," it announced. Without a
moment's hesitation he slipped the two keys from their ring and held
them out to the proprietor of the stall.
"'Ow much to make two like 'em, mate?" he enquired. The man took the
keys, examined them for a moment, and replied:
"One an' thruppence from you, capt'in."
"Well, think o' me as a pretty girl an' say a bob, an' it's done,"
replied Bindle.
The man regarded him with elaborate gravity for a few moments. "If yer
turn yer face away I'll try," he replied, and proceeded to fashion the
duplicates.
Meanwhile Bindle deliberated. If he retained the keys there would be
suspicion at the flats, and perhaps locks would be changed; if, on the
other hand, the keys were returned immediately, the owner would trouble
himself no further.
At this juncture he was not very clear as to what he intended to do.
He was still undecided when the four keys were handed to him in return
for a shilling.
The mind of Joseph Bindle invariably responded best to the
ministrations of beer, and when, half an hour later, he left the bar of
the Purple Goat, his plans were formed, and his mind made up. He
vaguely saw the hand of Providence in this discovery of Professor
Conti's keys, and he was determined that Providence should not be
disappointed in him, Joseph Bindle.
First he bought a cheap electric torch, guaranteed for twelve or
twenty-four hours--the shopkeeper was not quite certain which. Then,
proceeding to a chemist's shop, he purchased a roll of medical
bandaging. With this he retired up a side street and proceeded to
swathe his head and the greater part of his face, leaving only his
eyes, nose, and mouth visible. Drawing his cap carefully over the
bandages, he returned to the highway, first having improvised the
remainder of the bandaging into an informal sling for his left arm.
Not even Mrs. Bindle herself would have recognised him, so complete was
the disguise.
Ten minutes later he was at Audrey Mansions. No one was visible, and
with great swiftness and dexterity he tried the duplicate keys in the
open outer door. One fitted perfectly. Mounting to the third floor,
he inserted the other in the door of No. 13. The lock turned easily.
Quite satisfied, he replaced them in his pocket and rang the bell.
There was no answer. He rang again, and a third time, but without
result.
"Does 'is own charin'," murmured Bindle laconically, and descended to
the ground floor, where he rang the porter's bell, with the result that
the keys were faithfully redeemed.
Bindle left the porter in a state of suppressed excitement over a vivid
and circumstantial account of a terrible collision that had just taken
place in the neighbourhood, between a motor-bus and a fire-engine,
resulting in eleven deaths, including three firemen, whilst thirty
people had been seriously injured, including six firemen. He himself
had been on the front seat of the motor-bus and had escaped with a
broken head and a badly-cut hand.
II
Professor Conti did not discover his loss until the porter handed him
his keys, enquiring at the same time if the Professor had heard
anything of the terrible collision between the motor-bus and
fire-engine. The Professor had not. He mounted to his flat with heavy
steps. He was tired and dispirited. In his bedroom he surveyed
himself mournfully in the mirror as he undid the buckle of his
ready-made evening-tie, which he placed carefully in the green
cardboard box upon the dressing-table. In these days a tie had to last
the week, aided by the application of French chalk to the salient folds
and corners.
Professor Sylvanus Conti, who had been known to his mother, Mrs.
Wilkins, as Willie, emphasised in feature and speech his cockney
origin. He was of medium height, with a sallow complexion--not the
sallowness of the sun-baked plains of Italy, but rather that of
Bermondsey or Bow.
He had been a brave little man in his fight with adverse conditions.
Years before, chance had thrown across his path a doctor whose hypnotic
powers had been his ruin. Willie Wilkins had shown himself an apt
pupil, and there opened out to his vision a great and glorious prospect.
First he courted science; but she had proved a fickle jade, and he was
forced to become an entertainer, much against his inclination. In time
the name of Professor Sylvanus Conti came to be known at most of the
second-rate music halls as "a good hypnotic turn"--to use the
professional phraseology.
One consolation he had--he never descended to tricks. If he were
unable to place a subject under control, he stated so frankly. He was
scientific, and believed in his own powers as he believed in nothing
else on earth.
He had achieved some sort of success. It was not what he had hoped
for; still, it was a living. It gave him food and raiment and a small
bachelor flat--he was a bachelor, all self-made men are--in a spot that
was Kensington, albeit West Kensington.
The Professor continued mechanically to prepare himself for the night.
He oiled his dark hair, brushed his black moustache, donned his long
nightshirt, and finally lit a cigarette. He was thinking deeply. His
dark, cunning little eyes flashed angrily. A cynical smile played
about the corners of his mouth, half hidden by the bristly black
moustache.
Only that evening he had heard that his rival, "Mr. John Gibson, the
English Mesmerist," had secured a contract to appear at some syndicate
halls that had hitherto engaged only him.
This man Gibson had been dogging Conti for months past. The barefaced
effrontery of the fellow added fuel to the fire of his rival's anger.
To use an English name for a hypnotic turn upon the English music-hall
stage! He should have known that hypnotism, like the equestrian and
dressmaking arts, is continental, without exception or qualification.
Yet this man, John Gibson, "the English Mesmerist," had dared to enter
into competition with him, Professor Sylvanus Conti. Gibson descended
to tricks, which placed him beyond the pale of science. He had
confederates who, as "gentlemen among the audience," did weird and
marvellous things, all to the glory of "the English Mesmerist."
Still brooding upon a rather ominous future, the Professor wound his
watch--a fine gold hunter that had been presented to him three years
previously by "A few friends and admirers"--and placed it upon the
small table by his bedside, together with his money and other
valuables; then, carefully extinguishing his half-smoked cigarette, he
got into bed. It was late, and he was tired. A sense of injustice was
insufficient to keep him awake for long, and, switching off the
electric light, he was soon asleep.
From a dream in which he had just discomfited his rival, "the English
Mesmerist," by placing under control an elephant, Professor Conti
awakened with a start. He intuitively knew that there was someone in
the room. Lying perfectly still, he listened. Suddenly his blood
froze with horror. A tiny disc of light played round the room and
finally rested upon the small table beside him. A moment later he
heard a faint sound as of two substances coming into contact.
Instinctively he knew it to be caused by his watch-chain tinkling
against his ash-tray.
He broke out into a cold sweat. Moist with fear, he reviewed the
situation. A burglar was in the room, taking his--the
Professor's--presentation watch and chain. The thought of losing
these, his greatest treasures, awakened in his mind the realisation
that he must act, and act speedily. With a slow, deliberate movement
he worked his right hand up to the pillow, beneath which he always kept
a revolver. It seemed an eternity before he felt the comforting touch
of cold metal. He withdrew the weapon with deliberate caution.
The sound of someone tiptoeing about the room continued--soft, stealthy
movements that, however, no longer possessed for him any terror. A
fury of anger, a species of blood-lust gripped him. Someone had dared
to break into his flat. The situation became intolerable. With one
swift movement he sat up, switched on the electric light, and cocked
his revolver.
An inarticulate sound, half-cry, half-grumble, came from the corner by
the chest of drawers. The back of the head, looking curiously like a
monkish crown, flashed into a face, swathed in what appeared to be
medical bandages, through which was to be seen a pair of eyes in which
there was obvious terror. It was Bindle.
"Hands up, or I shoot! Up, I say."
Up went Bindle's hands.
The Professor did not recognise his own voice. Suddenly he laughed.
The ludicrous expression in Bindle's eyes, the unnatural position in
which he crouched, his having caught a burglar red-handed--it was all
so ridiculous.
Then there came the triumphant sense of victory. The Professor was
calm and collected now, as if the discovery of a burglar in his bedroom
were a thing of nightly occurrence. There seemed nothing strange in
the situation. The things to be done presented themselves in obvious
and logical sequence. He was conscious of the dramatic possibilities
of the situation.
Not so Bindle.
"This comes o' takin' advice of a 'daughter o' the Lord,'" he groaned.
"Wonder wot 'Earty'll say?"
In spite of his situation Bindle grinned.
"Turn round and face the wall, quick!"
It was the Professor's voice that broke in upon Bindle's thoughts. He
obeyed with alacrity and the tonsured scalp reappeared.
Carefully covering with his revolver the unfortunate Bindle, whose
first effort at burglary seemed doomed to end so disastrously,
Professor Conti slipped out of bed and, without removing his eyes from
Bindle's back, sidled towards a small chest at the other side of the
room. This he opened, and from it took a pair of handcuffs, a
"property" of his profession.
"Put your hands behind your back," he ordered with calm decision.
For one brief moment Bindle meditated resistance. He gave a swift
glance over his shoulder; but, seeing the determined look in his
captor's eyes and the glint of the revolver, he thought better of it
and meekly complied.
The handcuffs clicked and Professor Conti smiled grimly.
As he stood gazing at the wall, Bindle's mind was still running on what
Mrs. Bindle would say when she heard the news. Fate had treated him
scurvily in directing him to a flat where a revolver and handcuffs
seemed to be part of the necessary fittings. He fell to wondering what
punishment novices at burglary generally received.
He was awakened from his reverie and the contemplation of a
particularly hideous wallpaper, by a sharp command to turn round. He
did so, and found himself facing a ludicrous and curiously unheroic
figure. Over his nightshirt Professor Conti had drawn an overcoat with
an astrachan collar and cuffs. Beneath the coat came a broad hem of
white nightshirt, then two rather thin legs, terminating in a pair of
red woollen bedroom slippers.
Bindle grinned appreciatively at the spectacle. He was more at his
ease now that the revolver had been laid aside.
"You're a burglar, and you're caught."
The Professor showed his yellow teeth as he made this pronouncement.
Bindle grinned. "You'll get five years for this," proceeded the
Professor encouragingly.
"I was just wonderin' to meself," responded Bindle imperturbably. "The
luck's wi' you, guv'nor," he added philosophically. "Fancy you 'avin'
'andcuffs as well as a revolver! Sort o' Scotland Yard, this 'ere
little 'ole. 'Spose you get a touch of nerves sometimes, and likes to
be ready. Five years, you said. Three was my figure. P'raps you're
right; it all depends on the ole boy on the bench. Ever done time,
sir?" he queried cheerfully.
Professor Conti was too intent upon an inspiration that had flashed
upon him to listen to his visitor's remarks. Suddenly he saw in this
the hand of Providence, and at that moment Bindle saw upon the chest of
drawers one of the Professor's cards bearing the inscription:
PROFESSOR SYLVANUS CONTI,
_Hypnotist and Mesmerist._
13 AUDREY MANSIONS,
QUEEN'S CLUB,
WEST KENSINGTON,
LONDON, W.
He turned from the contemplation of the card, and found himself being
regarded by his captor with great intentness. The ferret-like eyes of
the Professor gazed into his as if desirous of piercing a hole through
his brain. Bindle experienced a curious dreamy sensation. Remembering
the card he had just seen, he blinked self-consciously, licked his
lips, grinned feebly, and then half closed his eyes.
Professor Conti advanced deliberately, raised his hands slowly, passed
them before the face of his victim, keeping his eyes fixed the while.
Over the unprepossessing features of Bindle there came a vacant look,
and over those of the Professor one of triumph. After a lengthy pause
the Professor spoke.
"You are a burglar. Repeat it."
"I am a burglar," echoed Bindle in a toneless voice.
The Professor continued: "You tried to rob me, Professor Sylvanus
Conti, of 13 Audrey Mansions, Queen's Club, West Kensington, by
breaking into my flat at night."
In the same expressionless voice Bindle repeated the Professor's words.
"Good," murmured Conti. "Good! Now sit down." Bindle complied, a
ghost of a grin flitting momentarily across his face, as the Professor
turned to reach a chair which he placed immediately opposite to the one
on which Bindle sat, and about two yards distant. With his eyes fixed,
he commenced in a droning tone:
"You have entered my flat with the deliberate and cold-blooded
intention of robbing, perhaps of murdering me. It is my intention to
write a note to the police, which you will yourself deliver, and wait
until you are arrested. Now repeat what I have said."
In a dull, mechanical voice Bindle did as he was told. For a full
minute the Professor gazed steadily into his victim's eyes, made a few
more passes with his hands, and then, rising, went to a small table and
wrote:
DEAR SIR,
The bearer of this letter is a burglar who has just broken into my flat
to rob me. I have placed him under hypnotic control, and he will give
himself up. You will please arrest him. I will 'phone in the morning.
Yours faithfully,
SYLVANUS CONTI.
Sealing and addressing the letter, the Professor then removed the
handcuffs from Bindle's wrists, bade him rise, and gave him the
envelope.
"You will now go and deliver this note," he said, explaining with great
distinctness the whereabouts of the police-station. Bindle was
proceeding slowly towards the door, when the Professor called upon him
to stop. He halted abruptly. "Show me what you have in your pockets."
Bindle complied, producing the presentation watch and chain, a gold
scarf-pin, a pair of gold sleeve-links, one diamond and three gold
studs, and a diamond ring. He omitted to include the Professor's loose
change, which he had picked up from the small table by the bedside.
For a moment the Professor pondered; then, as if coming to a sudden
determination, he told Bindle to replace the articles in his pocket,
and dismissed him.
Having bolted the door, Professor Conti returned to his bedroom. For
half an hour he sat in his nondescript costume, smoking cigarettes. He
was thoroughly satisfied with the night's work. It had been ordained
that his flat should be burgled, and he, Sylvanus Conti, professor of
hypnotism and mesmerism, seizing his opportunity, had diverted to his
own ends the august decrees of destiny.
He pictured Mr. William Gibson reading the account of his triumph in
the evening papers. He saw the headlines. He himself would inspire
them. He saw it all. Not only would those come back who had forsaken
him for "the English Mesmerist," but others also would want him. He
saw himself a "star turn" at one of the West-end halls.
He saw many things: fame, fortune, a motor-car, and, in the far
distance, the realisation of his great ambition, a scientific career.
In a way he was a little sorry for the burglar, the instrument of fate.
Throwing off his overcoat and removing his slippers, the Professor
switched off the light, got into bed, and was soon asleep.