DEVLIN ASTONISHES ME.
"I remarked to you just now," he said, seating himself comfortably in
his chair, "that I am always suspicious of mere words, for the reason
that there is ever a secret motive behind them. From what you have
said I should be justified in supposing that your desire to discover
the mystery in which the death of your poor young friend is involved
springs simply from sympathy with her bereaved family. I will not set
a trap for you, and pin you to that statement by asking questions
which you would answer only in one way. You would argue with yourself
probably as to the disingenuousness of those answers, but would
finally appease your conscience by deciding that I, a perfect stranger
to you and your affairs, cannot possibly have anything to do with the
private motives by which you are influenced. Say, for instance, by
such a motive as the earning of a reward which we will put down at a
thousand pounds."
For the life of me I could not restrain a start of astonishment. It
was the exact sum Mr. Portland had offered me. By what dark means had
Devlin divined it?
"You need not be discomposed," said Devlin. "The thing is natural
enough. You have credited me with so much that it will harm neither of
us if you credit me with a little more--say, with a certain faculty
for reading men's thoughts. The world knows very little as yet; it has
much to learn; and I, in my humble way, may be a master in a new
species of spiritual power. Now, I have a profound belief in Fate;
what it wills must inevitably be. And, impressed by this article of
faith, I, the master, may be willing to become the slave. Fate has led
you to this house, and it may be that you are an instrument in
discoveries yet to be made. I continue, you observe, to speak
occasionally in metaphor. Be as frank with me as I have been with you.
No, don't trouble yourself to speak immediately. In the words you were
about to utter there is a subterfuge; you have not yet made up your
mind to be entirely open with me. You and I meet now for the first
time. Before this day I have never known of your existence, nor have
you been aware of mine."
"If that be true," I said, interrupting him, "what made you mention
the reward of a specific sum?"
"Of a thousand pounds?" he asked, smiling.
"Exactly."
"Do you deny that such a reward has been offered to you?"
"I do not deny it; but by what mysterious means did you come to the
knowledge of it?"
"Because it is in your mind, my dear sir," he said.
"That is no answer."
"Is it not? I should have thought it would satisfy you, but you are
inclined to be unreasonable. Come, now, I will show you how little I
am concealing from you with respect to my knowledge of your
movements." He shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked at me from
beneath it.
"I do not know your name, nor in what part of London you reside, but
certainly you and your wife--no doubt a most estimable lady--were
sitting together at breakfast yesterday morning."
He paused, and waited for me to speak. "It is quite true," I said;
"but there is nothing unusual in husband and wife partaking of that
meal in company."
"Nothing in the least unusual if a man is master of his own time, as
you were yesterday morning, for the first time for a long while past.
The fact is, you had lost a situation in which you have been employed
for years."
I sat spellbound. Devlin continued:
"The breakfast-things are on the table, and you and your lady are
discussing ways and means. You are not rich, and you look forward with
some fear to the future. Times are hard, and situations are not easy
to obtain. In the midst of your consultation a man rushes into the
room. He is a middle-aged man. Shall I describe him?"
"If you can," I said, my wonder growing.
He gave me a fairly faithful description of Mr. Melladew, and
proceeded:
"A great grief has fallen upon this man. It is only within the last
hour that he has discovered that his daughter had been murdered. He
remains with you some time, and then other persons make their
appearance, among them newspaper reporters and policemen, all
doubtless drawn to your house by this business of the murder. You have
also an interview with a young gentleman. The day passes. It is
evening, and you are seated with another person. By this person you
are offered one thousand pounds if you discover the murderer of the
young girl, and another thousand if you find her sister, who has
strangely disappeared. I do not wish to deprive you of such credit as
belongs to a man who sympathises with a friend in trouble; but it is
certainly a fact that the dim prospect of earning such a handsome sum
of money is very strong within you. That is all."
I deliberated awhile in silence, and Devlin did not disturb my
musings. All that he had narrated had passed through my mind while he
was engaged in dressing my hair. Had he the power of reading thoughts
by the mere action of his fingers upon a man's head? No other solution
occurred to me, and had I not been placed in my present position I
should instantly have rejected it; but now I was in the mood for
entertaining it, wild and incredible as it appeared. During this
interval of silence I made a strong endeavour to calm myself for what
was yet to take place between me and Devlin, and I was successful.
When I spoke I was more composed.
"You say you do not know where I live. Is it true?" I asked.
"Quite true," he answered.
"You do not really know my name?"
"I do not."
"Nor the names of my visitors?"
"Nor the names of your visitors."
"But you must be aware," I said, "admitting, for the sake of argument,
that you are not romancing----"
"Yes," he said, laughing, "admitting that, for the sake of argument."
"You must be aware that the name of the first man who visited me--he
being, as you have declared, the father of the murdered girl--is
Melladew."
"I am aware of it, not from actual knowledge, but from what I have
read in the newspapers."
"But of the name of the gentleman who, you say, offers the reward of a
thousand pounds, you are ignorant."
"Quite ignorant. Now, having replied to your questions frankly,
confess that you have forced yourself upon me with a distinct motive,
in which I, a stranger to you, am interested."
"My object is to discover the murderer and bring him to justice."
"A very estimable design."
"And also to discover what has become of the murdered girl's sister."
"Exactly. How do you propose to accomplish your object?"
"Through you."
"Indeed! Through me?"
"As surely as we are in the same room together, through you. Receive
what I am about to say as the fixed resolve of a man who sees before
him a stern duty and will not flinch from it. Having come into
association with you, I am determined not to lose sight of you. I put
aside any further consideration of a strange and inexplicable mystery
in connection with yourself as being utterly and entirely beyond my
power to understand."
"My dear sir," said Devlin, with a glance at his shabby clothes, "you
flatter me."
"All my energies now are bent to one purpose, which, through you, I
shall carry to its certain end. You have made yourself plain to me. I
hope up to this point I have made myself plain to you."
"You are the soul of lucidity," said Devlin, "but much remains yet to
explain. For the sake of argument we have admitted an element of
romance into this very prosaic matter; for it is really prosaic,
almost commonplace. Life is largely made up of tragedies and
mysteries, the majority of them petty and contemptible, a few only
deserving to be called grand. As a matter of fact, my dear sir,
existence, with all its worries, anxieties, hopes, and disappointments,
is nothing better than a game of pins and needles. It is the littleness
of human nature that magnifies a pin prick into a wound of serious
importance. To think that some of these mortals should call themselves
philosophers! It is laughable. Do you follow me?"
"Not entirely," I replied, "but I have some small glimmering of your
meaning."
"Were your mind," said Devlin, shaking with internal laughter, "quite
free from the influence of that thousand pounds, it would be clearer.
In the grand Scheme of Nature, so far as mortals comprehend it, the
potent screw is human selfishness. These speculations, however, are
perhaps foreign to the point. Let us continue our amicable argument
until we thoroughly understand each other upon the subject of this
murder. You see, my dear sir, I wish to know exactly how I stand; for
despite the extraordinary opinion you have formed of me, it is you who
have assumed the _rôle_ of Controller of Destinies. I am but a mere
instrument in your hands." He measured me with his eyes. "You are well
built, and are, I should judge, a powerful man."
"You are contemplating the probability of a physical struggle between
us," I said. "Dismiss it; there will be none."
He made me a mocking bow. "My mind is, indeed, relieved. You do not
intend violence, then. I am free to leave the house if I wish--at this
moment, if I please. Have you taken that contingency into account?"
"I have."
"You will not attempt to detain me by force?"
"No."
"In such an event, how will you act?"
"I shall follow you, and to the first policeman I meet I shall say,
'Arrest that person. He is implicated in the murder of Lizzie
Melladew.'"
Devlin cast upon me a look of admiration. "That would be awkward," he
said.
"Decidedly awkward--for you."
"You would be asked to furnish evidence."
"Direct evidence it would be, at present, out of my power to supply,"
I said; I was on my mettle; my mental forces were never clearer, were
never more resolutely set upon one object; "but there is such a thing
as circumstantial evidence. Mr. Lemon and his wife should come
forward, and relate all that they know concerning you. You and Mr.
Lemon are carrying on a business somewhere; the place should be
searched; it should be made food for the multitude who are ever on the
hunt for the sensational. Your desk on the table here contains
writings of yours; they may throw light upon the investigation. So we
should go on, step by step, independent of your assistance, until we
get the murderer--who may or may not be an accomplice of yours--into
the clutches of the law."
Towards the end of this speech I had risen and approached the window,
which faced the square. Mechanically lifting the blind, I looked out,
and saw what arrested my attention. By the railings on the opposite
side, with his eyes raised to the window, was the figure of a man. He
was standing quite motionless, and, the night being fine, with a
panoply of stars in the sky, I presently recognised the figure to be
that of George Carton, poor Lizzie Melladew's distracted lover. At
some little distance from him was the figure of another man, whose
movements were distinguished by restlessness, and in him I recognised
Carton's guardian, Mr. Kenneth Dowsett.
"Looking for a policeman?" inquired Devlin, with a touch of amusement
in his voice.
"No," I replied, "but I am pleased to discover that I am not alone,
that I have friends outside ready to assist me the moment I call upon
them."
Devlin rose, and joined me at the window.
"Is your sight very keen?" he asked.
"Keen enough to recognise friends," I said.
"Mine is wonderful," said Devlin, "quite catlike; another of my
abnormal qualities. I can plainly distinguish the features of the two
men upon whom we are gazing. One is young. Who is he?"
"His name," I replied, believing that entire frankness would be more
likely to win Devlin to my side, "is George Carton."
"I recognise him; he was in your house yesterday morning. He seems
distressed. There is a troubled look in his face."
"He was the murdered girl's lover."
"Ah! And the other, the elder man, casting anxious glances upon the
younger--who may he be?"
"His name is Mr. Kenneth Dowsett. He is young Carton's guardian."
"Thank you," said Devlin, returning to his seat at the table. I
dropped the blind, and resumed my seat opposite to him, and then I
observed a singular smile upon his face, to which I could attach no
meaning.
"I presented," he said, "a certain contingency to you, the contingency
of my leaving this house, and you have been delightfully explicit as
to the course you would pursue. But, my dear sir, crediting myself
with a species of occult power, which you appear ready to grant to me,
might it not be in my power to vanish, to disappear from your sight
the moment the policeman you would summons attempted to lay hands upon
me?"
"I must chance that," I said.
"Good. Nothing of the sort will occur, I promise. I cannot carry on my
pursuit as a Shadow. The idea of leaving the house did occur to me; I
banish it. Well, then, suppose I remain here; suppose I put an end to
this discussion; suppose I go to bed. To all your vapourings, suppose
I say, 'Go to the devil!' Why on earth do you stare at me so? It is a
common saying, and the awful consequences of such a journey are seldom
thought of. I repeat, I say to you, 'Go to the devil!' What, then?"
"I still could summon a policeman," I said; "but even if I postponed
that step or you managed to escape from me, I have a talent which, now
that it occurs to me, I shall immediately press into my service."
"Enlighten me."
I took from my pocket some letters, and tore from them three blank
leaves, upon which I set to work with pencil. My task occupied me ten
minutes and more, during which time Devlin, sitting back in his chair,
watched me with an expression of intense amusement in his face. When I
had finished I handed him one of the blank leaves.
"My portrait!" he exclaimed. "I am an artist myself, as you have seen
in Mrs. Lemon's parlour. This picture is the very image of me!"
"There is no mistaking it," I said complacently. "It will insure
recognition."
"In what way do you propose to turn it to advantage, in the event of
my being contumacious?"
"You have doubtless," I said, "noted the changes that have taken place
in the life of civilised cities?"
"Excellent," he said. "My dear sir, you compel my admiration; you are
altogether so different a person from the simpleton who lies shaking
in his bed on the floor below. You have brain power. My worthy
landlord and partner would have as well fulfilled his destiny had he
been a mouse. The changes that have taken place! Ah, what changes have
I not seen, say, in the course of the last thousand years!" And here
he laughed loud and long. "But proceed, my dear sir, proceed. How do
these changes affect me in the matter we are now considering?"
"There was a time----"
"Really, like the beginning of a fairy story," he interposed.
"When public opinion was of small weight, whereas now it is the most
important factor in social affairs."
"Lucidly put. I listen to you with interest."
"The penny newspaper," I observed sagely, "is a mighty engine."
"You speak with the wisdom of a platitudinarian."
"It enlists itself in the cause of justice, and frequently plays, to a
serviceable end, the part of a detective. You may remember the case of
Leroy."
"A poor bungler, a very poor bungler. A small mind, my dear sir, eaten
up by self-conceit of the lowest and meanest quality."
"For a long time Leroy evaded justice, but at length he was arrested.
A popular newspaper published in its columns a portrait of the
wretch----"
"I see," said Devlin, "and you would publish my portrait in the
newspapers?"
"In every paper that would give it admittance; and few would refuse.
Beneath it should be words to the effect that it was the portrait of a
man who knew, before its committal, that the murder of the poor girl
Lizzie Melladew was planned, and who must, therefore, be implicated in
it. The portrait would lead to your arrest, and then Mr. and Mrs.
Lemon would come forward with certain facts. Mr. Devlin, I would make
London too hot to hold you."
"An expressive phrase. Your plan is more than ordinarily clever; it is
ingenious. And London," said Devlin thoughtfully, "is such a place to
work in, such a place to live in, such a place to observe in! To be
banished from it would be a great misfortune. What other city in the
world is so full of devilment and crime; what other city in the world
is so full of revelations; what other city in the world is so full of
opportunities, so full of contrasts, so full of hypocrisy and
frivolity, so full of cold-blooded villainy? The gutters, with their
ripening harvests of vice for gaol find gallows; the perfumed gardens,
the fevered courts; the river, with its burden of jewels and beauty,
with its burden of woe and despair; the bridges, with their nightly
load of hunger, sin, and shame; the mansions, with their music, and
false smiles, and aching hearts; the garrets, with their dim lights
flickering; the bells, with their solemn warning; the busy streets,
with their scheming life; the smug faces, the pinched bellies, the
satins, the rags, the social treacheries, the suicides, the secret
crimes, the rotting souls! My dear sir, the prospect of your making
such a field too hot to hold even such a poor tatter-demalion as
myself overwhelms me. What is the alternative?"
"That you pledge yourself by all that is holy and sacred to give me
your fullest assistance towards the discovery of Lizzie Melladew's
murderer."