CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE NEW TENANT TAKES POSSESSION OF NO. 119 GREAT PORTER SQUARE.
An hour before midnight of the day on which No. 119 Great Porter Squarewas let to a new tenant, a man dressed in plain clothes walked leisurelyround the Square in a quiet and secretly-watchful manner. Rain wasfalling, and there were but few persons about, but, although the manspoke to none, he appeared to take an interest in all, scrutinising themclosely with keen, observant eyes. Between him and the policemen he metin his circuitous wanderings a kind of freemasonry evidently existed.Once or twice he asked, under his breath, without stopping:
"All right?"
And received in answer the same words, spoken rapidly and in a low tone:
"All right!"
No other words were exchanged.
As the church bells chimed eleven, Richard Manx entered Mrs. Preedy'shouse, No. 118, letting himself in with his latch-key. He passed the manwho was walking round the Square, but took no notice of him. As he stoodat the street door, searching in his pocket for his latch-key, the manpassed the house, and did not even raise his eyes to Richard Manx'sface. The presumption was that they were utterly indifferent to eachother; but presumptive evidence is as often wrong as right, and betweenthe actions of these two men, strangers to each other, existed a stronglink which boded ill to one of them. At a quarter past eleven Mrs.Preedy, somewhat later than her wont, bustled out of her house for hernightly gossip with Mrs. Beale. By this time the rain was coming downfaster, and when Mrs. Preedy disappeared, Great Porter Square may besaid to have been deserted, with the exception of the one man who hadbeen walking there for an hour, and the policeman sauntering at thecorner. The man now paused before Mrs. Preedy's house, and knockedsoftly at the door. Becky's sharp ears caught the sound, soft as it was,and she ascended from the basement, and inquired who was there. Theanswer was:
"A friend."
Becky opened the door, and peered out, but it was too dark for her torecognise the man's face.
"It's all right, Miss," said the man, "I've been here before. I broughta packet and a letter to you from Mr. Frederick. He sent me here now."
"How am I to know that?" asked Becky.
The man smiled in approval, and handed Becky an envelope addressed toherself. She retreated into the passage, and while the man remained uponthe doorstep, she opened the envelope and stooped down. There was acandle on the floor which she had brought up from the kitchen, and byits light she read the few words written on the note paper.
"The man who gives you this is the detective I mentioned in my letter this morning. Trust him and attend to his instructions.--FREDERICK."
Becky returned to the detective and said:
"I know you now. What do you want me to do?"
"Is there any chance of Richard Manx hearing us?" asked the detective.
Becky, placing her fingers to her lips went to the basement stairs andcalled:
"Fanny!"
The child appeared immediately, and Becky whispered in her ear for a fewmoments. Fanny nodded, and crept softly upstairs in the direction of thegarret occupied by Richard Manx.
"We are safe," said Becky to the detective. "Richard Manx cannot hearwhat we say. Fanny is keeping watch on him."
"Fanny's a clever little thing," said the detective admiringly; "I'dlike a daughter with her wits. Now, Miss, keep in your mind what I amgoing to tell you--not that there's any need for me to say that. You areworking for Mr. Frederick, as I am, and others with me. A watch is goingto be set outside this house--and if it's done as well as the watchyou've kept inside the house, we shan't have any reason to grumble. Inwhat room does the old bedridden lady, Mrs. Bailey sleep?"
"In the first floor back," replied Becky.
"Is the first floor front open? Can you get into the room?"
"Yes, I have the key."
"That's the room, isn't it?" said the detective, stepping back andlooking up. "There's a balcony before the window."
"Yes."
"Does the window open easily?"
"I don't know; I have never tried."
"Would you oblige me by stepping upstairs and trying now? And it willsave trouble if you leave the window open. Be as quiet as you can, soas not to alarm Richard Manx. I'll keep outside the street door whileyou're gone."
Becky went softly into the kitchen for the key of the first floor front,and then went upstairs and opened the door. She might have been ashadow, she glided about so noiselessly. The window was not easy toopen, but she succeeded in raising the sash almost without a sound.
"It is done," she said, as she stood before the detective once more.
"I'd like to have another daughter," said he, in a tone of approval,"with wits as sharp as yours. I believe Mr. Frederick was right when hetold me there was not your equal. Now, something's going to be donethat will take about a quarter-of-an-hour to do, and we want to be sureduring that quarter-of-an-hour that Richard Manx is not up to any of hislittle games. You understand me--we want to be sure that he is in hisgarret, smoking his pipe, or saying his prayers, or reading a good book.You and Fanny between you can do that part of the business for us--Ileave you to manage how. I wouldn't presume to dictate to _you_. If everyou've a mind to give lessons in _my_ way of business, you may count onme as a pupil."
"We can do what you ask," said Becky; "but how are we to let you know?"
"There's the window of the first floor front open. If Richard Manx issafe in his room, let fly a bit of newspaper out of the window--I shallsee it, and know what it means. If there's danger--if at any time withina quarter-of-an-hour of the newspaper flying out of the window, RichardManx is up to any of his games, such as going out of his room throughthe ceiling instead of through the door, or prowling about the roof whenhe ought to be in bed--throw one of these little balls of red worstedout of the window. That will be a danger signal, and we shall know whatto do."
"May I ask you one question?"
"A dozen if you like--but I won't promise to answer them."
"I think you may answer this one. Is the gentleman who employs youtaking an active part in what is going to be done?"
"He is, Miss."
"Then he is near here!" exclaimed Becky. She could not restrain herselffrom looking this way and that through the darkness, but she saw nothingbut shadows. Not a human being except the man beside her was visibleto her sight. "O, if I could see him only for a moment!" she murmuredsoftly, but not so softly that the detective did not hear the words.
"Best not, Miss," he said; "I've known the finest schemes upset just inthe same way. There's only one thing to be thought of--when that's done,the time is all before you."
"You are right, I feel," said Becky, with a sigh. "I'll go in now, anddo what you want."
The detective stepped on to the pavement, and when the street door wasclosed, stationed himself by the railings of the parody of a gardenwhich occupied the centre of the Square. He kept his eyes fixed on thefirst floor window until he saw fluttering from it a piece of newspaper.His professional instinct caused him to pick this piece of paper fromthe ground, so that it should not fall into the hands of an enemy; thenhe took from his pocket a pocket-handkerchief and waved it in the air.During his conversation with Becky, and up to this moment, his movementshad not been disturbed, and no man or woman had appeared in the Square;but now, in answer to his signal, a man made his way towards him.
"All's well," said the detective; "get in as quickly as you can."
The man did not reply; accompanied by the detective, he walked up to thehouse in which the murder had been committed, and inserted the key inthe street door. The lock was rusty, and he could not turn the key.
"I thought of that," said the detective; "take the key out, sir."
Producing a small bottle of oil and a feather, he oiled the wards ofthe lock, without allowing his attention to be distracted from hisobservation of the first floor windows of Mrs. Preedy's house; he thenrubbed a little oil into the wards of the key, and putting it in, t
urnedthe lock. The door of No. 119 was open to receive the new tenant.
"A word, sir," said the detective; "there's no danger at present.Nothing can come within fifty yards of us without my being warned of it.Are you quite determined to pass these two nights in the house alone?"
"I am quite determined--this night and to-morrow night, and as many moreas may be necessary."
"I've got a man handy--a man you can trust, sir."
"I require no one."
"Very good, sir. Don't forget the whistle if you require help. There'llbe no danger in the day; it's the night you'll have to be careful of.At one o'clock in the morning you'll find the basket lowered into thearea."
"That is well; but you had best remain on the spot for a few momentstill I see if I can get into the area."
He went into the deserted house, and shut himself in. Before he took astep inwards he sat on the floor, and pulled off his boots, and withthese in his hands rose, and groped towards the basement stairs.Downstairs he crept in his stocking feet, and, after listening for amoment or two, obtained a light from a noiseless match, and lighted thelamp in a policeman's lantern. By its aid he found his way through asmall door, which he opened with difficulty, into the area. He lookedup, and was instantly accosted by the detective.
"There is no difficulty in the way," he said. "Good night."
"Good night, sir."
Thus it was that Frederick Holdfast, the new tenant, took possession ofthe house in which his father had been foully murdered.
Silently he re-entered the kitchen, closing behind him the door whichled into the area. The place was damp and cold, but his agitation wasso intense that he was oblivious of personal discomfort. Even when therats ran over his stocking feet he was not startled. He had brought abundle in with him, which he placed upon the table and unpacked. Itcontained food and wine, but not sufficient for the time he intended toremain in the house. This was to be supplied to him in the basket whichthe detective promised to lower into the area in a couple of hours.In his breast pocket was a revolver, which he examined carefully. Socautious was he in his proceedings that, before he unpacked his food andexamined his revolver, he blocked the stairs which led from the kitchento the ground floor by chairs, the removing or scattering of which wouldhave warned him that he was not the only person in the house.
Presently he nerved himself to undertake a task which sent thrills ofhorror through his veins, which brought tears of anguish to his eyes,and sighs of pity and grief to his lips. He opened the door of theservant's bedroom, a cupboard as small as that which Becky occupiedin the next house; he tracked with his eyes the direction which amortally-wounded man would take from the kitchen door to the doorof this miserable bedroom. He followed the track, examining it withagonised care, and knelt down before the stains of blood which markedthe spot upon which his murdered father had fallen in his death agony.Time had not worn away the stains, and Frederick's suffering andsympathy made them clearer to his sight than they could possibly havebeen to the sight of any other living being. For a long time he remainedkneeling by this fatal, palpable, indelible shadow--remained as if inprayer, and overpowering self-communing. And, indeed, during the timehe so knelt, with this shadow of his father's body in his eyes, andweighing as an actual weight upon his heart, causing him to breathethickly and in short hurried gasps, dim pictures of his childhood passedbefore him, in every one of which his father appeared in an affectionateand loving guise. And all the while these sweeter presentments werevisible to his inner sight, his father dead, with the blood oozingfrom his fatal wounds, lay before him with horrible distinctness. Whenhe rose, and moved a few paces off, not only the shadow but the veryoutlines of a physical form seemed to be lying at his feet. The dyingface was raised to his, the dim eyes looked into his, the limbstrembled, the overcharged breast heaved; and when, after closing hiseyes and opening them again, he compelled himself, because of the actualduty before him, to believe that it was but the trick of a sympatheticimagination, he could not rid himself of the fancy that his father'sspirit was hovering over him, and would never leave him until his taskwas accomplished.
He tracked the fatal stains out of the kitchen, and up the stairs to thepassage to the street door, and noted the stains upon the balustrade, towhich his father had clung as he staggered to his death. As he stood inthe passage he fancied he heard a stifled movement in one of the roomsabove. Hastily he shut out the light of his lamp, and stood in deepdarkness, listening for a repetition of the sound. It did not reachhim, but as he leant forward, with his head inclined, and his hand uponhis revolver, the church clock proclaimed the hour of midnight. Clear,strong and deep, and fraught with unspeakable solemnity, the bell tolledthe hour which marks the tragedy and the sorrow of life. Shadows andpictures of sad experiences, and of pathetic and tragic events, whichwere not in any way connected with him, crowded upon his mind. Itappeared as if the records of years were brought before him in everyfresh tolling of the bell, and when the echo of the last peal died away,a weight which had grown well nigh intolerable was lifted from his soul.Then, his thoughts recurring to the sound which he had fancied he heardin the room above, he mentally asked himself whether the murderer hadpaused to listen to the tolling of the midnight hour, and whether anypremonition of the fate in store for him had dawned upon his guiltymind?
For awhile nothing further disturbed him. Lying upon the stairs forfully five minutes, he convinced himself that as yet no other humanbeing but himself was in the house. Turning the light of his lantern onagain, he continued his examination of his father's last movements upthe stairs to the first floor. No need for him to doubt which was theroom his father had occupied. The stains of blood led him to the verydoor, and here again he shut out the light of his lamp, and listened andlooked before he ventured to place his hand upon the handle. Silencereigned; no glimmer of light was observable through the chinks andcrevices of the door. Still in darkness, he turned the handle andentered the room. He had disturbed no one; he was alone.
Cautiously he let in the light, but not to its full capacity. An amazingsight greeted him.
None of the furniture in the house had been removed, and everything hisfather had used during his fatal tenancy was in the room. The piano, thetable at which he sat and wrote, the chairs, the bed, were there--butnot in the condition in which they had been left. A demon of destructionappeared to have been at work. The bed was ripped open, the paper hadbeen stripped from the walls, the coverings of the chairs were torn off,and the chairs themselves broken to pieces, the table was turned onend, the interior of the piano had been ransacked, the very keys werewrenched away--in the desperate attempt to discover some hidden thing,some hidden document upon which life and death might hang. More thanthis. The carpet had been taken up, and a few of the boards of the floorhad been wrenched away, and the dust beneath searched amongst. But thiswas recent work; the greater part of the room was still boarded over.
Frederick Holdfast had no intention himself of immediately commencing asearch; he knew that it would be dangerous. For a certainty RichardManx intended to continue it without delay, and was only waiting fora favourable opportunity to leave his attic. This thought inducedFrederick to consider in what way he could best watch the villain'smovements, without being himself detected. To do this in the room itselfwas impossible. There was no chance by the window; it could be done onlyfrom the ceiling or from the adjoining room. To effect an opening in theceiling in so short a time as he had at his disposal was impracticable,and even could it be done, there were dangerous chances of detection.After a little reflection, he decided that it could be best done fromthe adjoining room, and the moment this was decided upon he saw thatRichard Manx had to some extent assisted him. The laths which separatedthe rooms were fragile, the plaster was thinly spread; many of the lathsin the dividing wall had been laid bare by the stripping of the paper.He stood up on the bed, and without an appreciable effort, thrust hisfinger between the laths, and through the wall paper of the adjoiningapartment, choosing that part
of the wall which would afford him afavourable point of espionage. Alighting from the bed, he carefullyobliterated the marks of footsteps on the clothes, and then left theroom for the one adjoining. The door was unlocked, and the key was inthe inside. More from the locality than from the aperture, so securelysmall had he made it, he saw at once that it was practicable, and heascertained by moving the table close to the wall, that a safe footingwas afforded for his watch. This contented him, and for a time herested.
There were still no signs of Richard Manx. One o'clock had struck, andremembering that at that hour the basket of food was to be lowered intothe area, he hastened downstairs, and arrived just in time to receiveit.
"Everything is quiet here," said the detective, in a hoarse whisper. "Isour friend at work?" meaning by "our friend," Richard Manx.
"No," replied Frederick.
"Ah, he will be presently," said the detective; "he doesn't commencetill he thinks everybody's asleep, and Mrs. Preedy has only been homefor about ten minutes. She's as fond of a gossip as a cat is of mice.She's had an extra glass, I think. Are you quite comfortable, sir?"
"Quite," said Frederick, and put an end to the conversation by wishingthe detective good night.
"He's a plucky one," mused the detective, as he resumed his watch; "buthe's working for a prize worth winning."
The food in the basket was sufficient for one man's wants for nearly aweek, and Frederick, partaking of a little, went softly upstairs to thedrawing room. He took the precaution of locking the door, and, mountingthe table, waited for events.
He had not long to wait. At half-past one Richard Manx entered the roomin which Mr. Holdfast had been murdered.
Frederick did not instantly recognise him, his disguise was so perfect,but when he removed his wig, the watcher saw his enemy, Pelham, beforehim.
The wronged and persecuted man had schooled himself well. Though hisheart beat furiously and his blood grew hot, he suffered no sound toescape him. He had fully made up his mind, in the event of Richard Manxdiscovering a document, to steal upon him unaware, and wrest it fromhim. He did not doubt his power to do as much; in physical strength hewas the match of three such men as Pelham. His chief anxiety, in theevent of anything being discovered, was that it should not be destroyed.
Richard Manx used no precaution in the method of entering the room,except that he placed his candle upon the floor in such a way that itsreflection could not reach the window, which opened at the back of thehouse. This lack of precaution was in itself a sufficient proof that hissearch had been long continued, and was a proof also that he consideredhimself safe in the deserted house.
He was evidently in a discontented mood; he looked around the roomsullenly and savagely, but in this expression Frederick detected acertain helplessness and fear which denoted that he was ill at ease.That he was growing tired of his task was clear, for he resumed itwith an impatience and a want of system which might have preventedits successful accomplishment, even if he were on the thresholdof discovery. Frederick, from his point of observation, had anuninterrupted view of his proceedings. He had brought with him aquantity of tools, and by the aid of these he set to work removing theflooring boards, with but little noise, one after another, searchingeagerly in the rubbish beneath. With no success, however. Every now andthen, as though tired of this part of his search, he rose, and examinedthe furniture in the room, suspicious that some hiding place might haveescaped him. He muttered as he worked, but for a time his mutterings didnot reach Frederick's ears. After more than an hour's labour, he tookfrom a cupboard a bottle of spirits and a glass, and helped himselfliberally. Then, dirty and begrimed as he was, and with beads ofperspiration on his face, he sat down and consulted a pocket book, inwhich he added up a number of figures. "Five hundred," he said in a lowtone, "seven-fifty, eight hundred, a thousand, twelve hundred, fourteenhundred and twenty." He came to the end of his reckoning, and glared atthe figures as at a mortal enemy. Then from the same pocket-book he tookout a packet of bank notes, and counted them over till he reached thetotal, fourteen hundred and twenty. Frederick held the true key to theseproceedings. The sum of fourteen hundred and twenty pounds representedthe whole of Mr. Pelham's wealth, the payment and reward of a life ofvillainy, and perhaps of blood.
"It must be somewhere," muttered the man, replacing the book in hispocket; "he wrote every day he was here. It was proved at the inquest.What has he done with his infernal scribble? If it is found by astranger, and we are in the country, it will be death to us. Devil!devil! devil!" and he struck at the table in his passion, and then,alarmed at the sound, glared round with a terror-stricken face, with theair of a criminal overtaken by justice.
His fears allayed, he worked on again at the boards of the floor, makingbut slow progress. Three o'clock struck, and still he continued hiswork, and still was watched by the son of the murdered man. Half-pastthree--four--half-past four; and Richard Manx rose from his knees, andgave up his task for the night. Many times during his search had hedrank from the bottle of spirits, but what he drank appeared to affecthim only through his tongue, which became more loquacious and lessguarded. Once more he counted his bank-notes, grudgingly, greedily, andmuttered:
"She shall give me five hundred to-day--this very morning; that willmake nineteen hundred and twenty--say eighteen hundred clear, to breakthe bank at Monaco. If she likes to come with me, she can. I am sick ofthis game; there's too much to lose. To-morrow night shall be my lastnight here. I have searched every inch of this cursed room, and I throwit up. It is a slave's work, not a gentleman's." He certainly lookedas little like a gentleman as any human being could, and his wordsproclaimed the utter villainy of his nature. "There's too much danger init," he continued. "If the police were to take it in their heads to makeanother examination of this house, or if that weak idiot, FrederickHoldfast, were to turn up, I should find myself in the hole. And _she_should, too; I'd make her suffer with me. A nice reward for all myscheming in America! Well, it kept them apart--I can count that to mycredit. But for me, the old dotard and Frederick must have met. I owedhim one for the part he played in the Sydney Campbell affair inOxford--I owed him one, and I have paid it. And if I had him here, I'dserve him as I served--" He did not conclude his sentence; a suddenterror seized him, and he shook like a man in an ague. "I could havesworn I heard a voice," he muttered. "Hush!" For a few moments he didnot move; his feet were transfixed to the ground. By a strong effort herecovered himself, and a ghastly smile disfigured his face. "To-morrownight shall be the last," he said! "I swear it! I'll commence to enjoymy life again. This is not the only country in the world." And, shadingthe light of his candle with his hand, he left the room.
Frederick Holdfast did not move from his post till he had given RichardManx ample time to reach his garret in the next house. Then he descendedwith difficulty, for his limbs were cramped. As he stepped from thetable to the ground his foot slipped, and the table overbalanced, fellwith a crash on its side. He congratulated himself upon his forethoughtin waiting till Richard Manx was out of hearing, but not knowing whatmight be the consequences of the noise--for it might have disturbed theinmates of either, or of both, the adjoining houses--he unlocked thedoor, and made his way as quickly as he could, consistent with necessarycaution, to the basement, where in the course of another hour he soughta little rest, with his revolver firmly clenched in his hand.
Great Porter Square: A Mystery. v. 3 Page 8
