FACE TO FACE WITH DEVLIN, I DEMAND AN EXPLANATION OF HIM.
I rapped with my knuckles, and a voice which could have been none
other than the voice of Devlin immediately responded, calling to me to
enter. The next moment I stood face to face with the strange creature,
concerning whom my curiosity was raised to the highest pitch. He was
sitting in a chair upon my entrance, and he did not rise from it;
therefore I looked down upon him and he looked up at me. As my eyes
rested on his face, I saw in it the inspiration of the evil expression
in the faces of Mr. Lemon's portrait, the stone monster, and the
bird's beak, which had made so profound an impression upon me in the
parlour on the ground-floor.
"You have been in the house some time," said Devlin.
"I have," I answered.
"And have had a long, a very long, conversation with my worthy
landlady," he observed.
"Yes," I said.
"About me," he said, not in the form of a question but as a statement
of fact.
"Partly about you."
"And about poor Lemon?"
"Yes, about him as well."
"Sit down," said Devlin, "I expected you."
There was only one other chair in the room besides the one he
occupied, and I accepted his invitation, and drew it up to the table.
And there we sat gazing at each other for what appeared to me a long
time in silence.
The room was very poorly furnished. There were the two chairs, a small
deal table, and a single iron bedstead in the corner. Off the room was
a kind of closet, in which I supposed were a washstand and fittings.
There was only one other article in view in addition to those I have
mentioned, and that was a desk at which Devlin was writing.[1] He did
not put away his papers, and I was enabled to observe, without undue
prying, that his writing was very fine and very close.
How shall I describe him? A casual observation of his face and figure
would not suffice for the detection of anything uncanny about him, but
it must be remembered that I was abnormally excited, and most
strangely interested in him. He was tall and dark, his face was long
and spare; his forehead was low; his eyes were black, with an
extraordinary brilliancy in them; his mouth was large, and his lips
thin. He wore a moustache, but no beard. In the order and importance
of the impressions they produced upon me I should place first, his
black eyes with their extraordinary brilliancy, and next, his hands,
which were unusually small and white. They were the hands of a lady of
gentle culture rather than those of a man in the class of life to
which Devlin appeared to belong. Not alone was his social standing
presumably fixed by the fact of his living in a room so poorly
furnished at the top of a house so common as Mr. Lemon's, but his
clothes were a special indication. They were shabby and worn; black
frock-coat, black trousers and waistcoat, narrow black tie. Not a
vestige of colour about them, and no sign of jewellery of any kind.
"Well?" he said.
I started. I had been so absorbed in my observance of him that I, who
should have been the first to plunge into the conversation, had
remained silent for a time so unreasonably long that the man upon whom
I had intruded might have justly taken offence.
"I beg your pardon," I said; "did you not remark that you expected
me?"
"Yes."
"May I inquire upon what grounds your expectation was based?"
He smiled; and here I observed, in the quality of this smile, a
characteristic of which Mrs. Lemon had given me no indication. Devlin
was evidently gifted with a touch of humour.
"I reason by analogy," he said. "My landlady has very few visitors.
You are here for the first time, with an object. You remain closeted
with her for hours. She probably sent for you. During the long
interview down-stairs you have been told a great deal about me. You
hear me open the street-door, and you know I am in the house. My
landlady has a trouble on her mind, and mixes me up with it. You have
been made acquainted with this trouble and with my supposed connection
with it. Your curiosity has been aroused, and you determine to seek an
interview with me before you take your leave of her. You come up
uninvited, and here you are, as I expected. Am I logical?"
"Quite logical."
"In a common-sense view of commonplace matters--and everything in the
world is commonplace--lies the ripest wisdom. Follow my example.
Exercise your common sense."
But I did not immediately speak. Devlin's words were so different from
what I had expected that I was for a moment at a loss. The prospect of
my being able to bring the murderer of Lizzie Melladew to justice and
of earning a thousand pounds did not appear so bright.
"I will assist you," he resumed; "I will endeavour to set you at your
ease with me. Your scrutiny of me has been very searching; I ought to
feel flattered. What anticipations of my appearance you may have
entertained before you entered the room is your affair, not mine. How
far they are realised is your affair, not mine. But allow me to assure
you, my dear sir," and here he rose to his full height, and made me a
half-humorous, half-mocking bow, "that I am a very ordinary person."
"That cannot be," I said, "after what I have heard."
"It is the destiny," he said, resuming his seat, "of greater
personages than myself to be ranked much higher than they deserve.
Proceed."
"I am here to speak to you about this murder," I said, plunging boldly
into the subject.
"Ah, about a murder! But there are so many."
"You know to which one I refer. The murder of a young girl in Victoria
Park, which took place the night before last."
"I have heard and read of it," said Devlin.
"You know also," I continued, "that the tragedy has produced in Mr.
Lemon a condition of mind and body which may lead to dangerous
results, probably to a despairing death."
"All men must die," he said cynically.
I was now thoroughly aroused. "I have come to you for an explanation,"
I said, "and it must be a satisfactory one."
"You speak like an inquisitor," said Devlin, with a quiet smile, and I
seemed to detect in his altered manner a desire to irritate me and to
drive me into an excess of passion. For this reason I kept myself
cool, and simply said,
"I am resolved."
"Good. Keep resolved."
"I shall do so. By some devilish and mysterious means you were aware,
before the poor girl left her home on Friday night, that her doom was
sealed. You could have prevented it, and you did not raise a hand to
save her. This knowledge I have gained from Mr. Lemon, to whom,
through you, the impending tragedy was known."
"Then why did _he_ not prevent it?"
"It was not in his power. He was not acquainted with the names of the
murderer and his victim."
"Was I?"
"You must have been. I do not pretend to an understanding of the
extraordinary power you exercise, but I am convinced that, in
connection with you, there is a mystery which should be brought to
light, and if I can be the agent to unmask you I am ready for the
work. With all the earnestness of my soul, I swear it."
A low laugh escaped Devlin's lips. "Were a commissioner of lunacy
here," he said, "you would be in peril. This young girl you speak of,
is she in any way connected with you?"
"She was my friend; I knew her from childhood; she has sat at my table
with her sister and parents, and I and mine have sat at theirs. Her
family are plunged into the lowest depths of despair by the cruel,
remorseless blow which has fallen upon them."
"And you have taken upon yourself the task of an avenger. It is
chivalrous, but is it entirely unselfish? I am always suspicious of
mere words; there is ever behind them a secret motive, hidden by a
dark curtain. I speak in metaphor, but you will seize my meaning, for
you are a man of nerve and intelligence, utterly unlike our friend in
the room below, whose nature is servile and abject, and who is not, as
you are, given to heroics. Calm yourself. I am ready to discuss this
matter with you, but in your present condition I should have the
advantage of you. You are heated; I am cool and collected. You have
some self-interest at heart; I have none. Your words are so wild that
any person but myself hearing them would take you for a madman. For
your own sake--not for mine, for the affair does not concern me--I
advise moderation of language. I suppose you will scarcely believe
that the man upon whom you have unceremoniously intruded, and against
whom you launch accusations, the very extravagance of which renders
them unworthy of serious consideration--you will scarcely believe that
this man is simply a poor barber who has not a second coat to his
back, nor a second pair of shoes to his feet. But it is a fact--a
proof of the injustice of the world, ever blind to merit. For I am not
only a barber, sir, I am a capable workman, as I will convince you.
Pray do not move; a cooling essence and a brush skilfully used effect
wonders on an over-heated head."
It was not in my power to resist him. He had taken his place behind my
chair, and before he had finished speaking had sprinkled a liquid over
my head which was so overpoweringly refreshing that I insensibly
yielded to its influence. With brush and comb he arranged my hair, his
small white hands occasionally touching my forehead gently and
persuasively. When I thought afterwards of this strange incident I
called to mind that, for the two or three minutes during which he was
engaged in the exercise of his art, I was in a kind of quiet dream, in
which all the agitating occurrences of the previous day in connection
with the murder of Lizzie Melladew were mentally repeated in proper
sequence, closing with Mr. Portland's offer of a thousand pounds for
the discovery of the murderer. It was, as it were, a kind of panorama
which passed before me of all that occurred between morning and night.
I looked up, inexpressibly refreshed, and with my mind bright and
clear. Devlin stood before me, smiling.
"Confess, sir," he said, in a soft persuasive tone, "that I have
returned good for evil. The fever of the brain is abated, or I am a
bungler indeed. We will now discuss the matter."