The Crime Doctor

The Crime Doctor Page 7

by E. W. Hornung

  VII

  THE DOCTOR'S ASSISTANT

  The doctor was coping with his Sunday meal when the telephone went offin the next room. On his ears the imperious summons never fell without athrill; in his sight, the tulip-shaped receiver became a live thingtrumpeting for help; and he would answer the call himself, at any hourof the day or night. It was necessary at night, with the Bartons asleepin the basement like a family in a vault, but it was just the same whenthey were all on duty, as at the present moment. Back went theCromwellian chair, at the head of the bare and solitary trestle table.An excited personage, who might have been just outside the window, wasexpeditiously appeased in monosyllables. And Dollar returned with anappetite to what had been set before him.

  "Send Bobby round to the garage, Barton, to order the car at once. Hecan tell Albert I shall be ready as soon as he is, but to take hisheadlights and fill up with petrol." This was repeated with paternalseverity in the wings. "Now, Barton, my little red road-book, and see ifyou can find Pax Monktons in the wilds of Surrey. It can't be more thana hamlet. Try the Cobham country if it's not in the index."

  This took longer--took a survey map and two pairs of eyes before PaxMonktons Chase was discovered in microscopic print, and the light greenpeppered with dots signifying timber three hundred feet above sea-level.

  "Never heard of it in my life before," said Dollar, as he laced brownshoes before his coffee. "Or of the man either, or his double-barreledname for that matter. You might see if there's a Dale-Bulmer in _Who'sWho_."

  But again Barton was unsuccessful; and here his services ended, thoughthrough no fault of his own, or failure of unselfish zeal for one ofthose more than probable adventures which made him hate the chauffeurwho was always in them, and curse the duties that kept other people out.

  "Will you take your flask, sir?"

  "Lord, no! I'm not going to the North Pole."

  "Or your--or one of those revolvers, sir?"

  "What on earth for? Besides, they're not mine; they ought to be in theBlack Museum at Scotland Yard." The nucleus of a branch exhibition wasforming itself in Welbeck Street. "Don't you give way to nerves, Barton!I'm only going down to see a man who seems anxious to see me, but Ishouldn't be going to him if we had anybody up-stairs. You three make anafternoon of it somewhere; never mind if I'm back first; go out andenjoy yourselves."

  And he was off as if on a deliberate jaunt; but an involuntary chucklein the voice over the telephone, the hint of a surprise, the possibilityof a trick, made lively thinking after the doldrums of the dog-days; andthe fine September afternoon seemed expressly ordered for motorists withtime upon their hands. Dollar had only been thinking so when the callcame through, to supply just the object which gives a run its zest, andnothing else mattered in the least. However frivolous the end anderrand, the means and the meantime were so much to the good on such aday.

  It was warm, yet delightfully keen at thirty miles an hour; clear ascrystal within rifle-shot, and deliciously hazy in the distance; thebronze upon the trees seldom warming to a premature red, often lapsinginto the liquid greens of midsummer; but all the way an autumnal smearof silver in the sunlight. Dollar divided his mind between a sensuoussavoring of the heavenly country, and more or less romantic speculationson the case in store. Some people's notions of a crime doctor'sfunctions were so much wider even than his own; ten months out of thetwelve, he could not have afforded to come so far afield without adistastefully definite foreword about fees.

  This afternoon he was prepared to do almost anything for next tonothing: and after twenty sedentary miles he was on his legs as often asnot in the next two or three, asking his way at likely lodges, or fromstrolling bands of shaven yokels, all Sunday collars and cigarettes.

  "Pax Monktons Chase?" at last said one who seemed to have heard the namebefore. "Straight as ever you can go, and the first lodge on the left.But there's no one there."

  "No one there!" echoed Dollar. "Do you mean the place is empty?"

  "I believe there's workmen there on week-days, but you won't findanybody now, unless the chap that's bought it's motored over."

  "Isn't he living there, then?"

  "Not yet; there's alterations being made; and I don't know where he doeslive, or anything at all about him, except that he motors over sometimeson a Sunday."

  Dollar felt dashed until he remembered to appreciate one of the fewpossibilities for which he had not come quite prepared. There was somepromise in a surprise thus early and so complete. But it made PaxMonktons Chase fall a little flat when found. It robbed the dreary lodgeof all its value as an eye-opener; it made the chase itself look vastand desolate for nothing, and a noble pile of seasoned stone fling butdrab turrets and ineffective battlements against a silver sky, which thesun had ceased to polish in the last tortuous mile.

  It was all the pleasanter to find a ruddy, genial, bearded face, mountedon a spotted tie that went twice round a nineteen-inch neck, smiling awelcome under the entrance arch. The man introduced himself asDale-Bulmer, bolting a mouthful made for rolling on the tongue. Dollarwas much taken with the humor and simplicity of his address and bearing.A smart chauffeur waited with a plutocratic car in the sweep of thedrive. And there was no third sign of life about the place.

  "Awfully good of you to come," said Dale-Bulmer, with apologetic warmth."I thought you might, from what I'd heard of you, and you seemed to jumpat it when I rang you up. I haven't known anybody take so kindly to atrip since I left the bush."

  "An Australian?" asked the doctor, with all a doctor's readiness to maketalk; but he was more curious than ever to learn the secret of hissummons.

  "Yes! I come from that enlightened land, where Labor runs the show andWomen have the Vote. In fact," the big man added, with the fat chuckleheard over the telephone, "that's precisely why I _have_ come fromAustralia--as I was fool enough to say the other night at a meeting inthese parts. But I seem to have jumped out of the frying-pan into thefire."

  There was no sign of life]

  "I'm sorry to hear that," observed Dollar, with polite forbearance.

  "Well, not quite into the fire, as it happens," said Dale-Bulmer,chuckling again in his noble neck. "Come inside, and you'll see." He ledthe way into a broad central corridor, choked with ladders and builders'tools, pipes and tubing, curtain-rods, and a stack of boards; but amodel of order compared with the chaos visible through an open door atwhich he paused. Here were more bare joists than navigable floor, and aforest of scaffolding therefrom to the crisscrossed plaster ceiling."Look you here!" said the man from Australia, and pointed to a heap ofshavings on a remnant of the floor.

  "The British workman's such a careless dog," sighed Dollar, shaking asententious head, for a box of vestas had been spilt about the place.

  "British workman be hanged!" cried the other bluntly. "The Britishworkman's got a job here that will keep him in beer and betting-moneytill Christmas, and as much longer as he can spin it out. This is thelittle game of another sporting type--the British lady burning for thevote!"

  "So that's it! But are you sure?" asked Dollar, though he wanted to askif that was all.

  "Certain. I met a flaming brace of 'em on bicycles, just outside myboundary. This is what I was to get for speaking out about them theother night."

  "I don't see their literature, and I can't smell their paraffin."

  "It's in that bottle on the mantelpiece. Something must have scared themat the last moment--all but one sportswoman."

  "What about her?"

  "I've got her," said Dale-Bulmer, with sepulchral excitement.

  "Got her prisoner?"

  "I should hope so! Why, I caught her on the very point of setting fireto that very heap of shavings--and me without a hose-pipe in the house!Those are her matches on the floor; _she_ wasn't going to turn tail tillshe'd done her job--and didn't till I nearly trod on it! You couldhardly expect me to bow her out of the front door after that!"

  Dollar could only stare into the jovial face wreathed in rubicund grins,but
no longer free from a certain serio-comic compunction and concern.

  "But, my dear sir----"

  "Don't pitch into me!" pleaded Dale-Bulmer, pathetically. "I had to dosomething; if I hadn't thought of you, and one or two things I've heardabout you, doctor, I should only have telephoned to the police; andwhat's the good of putting these young women in the jug, to be pouredout again within a week? I heard you ran a nursing-home for criminals,worth all the prisons in the world."

  "But I don't run people into it," said the doctor; "they've got to comein of their own free will. What have you done with this young woman?"

  "I? Nothing; it's her own doing entirely. She chose her cover--I onlyturned the key."

  "You've locked her up in some room?"

  "Yes--more or less--rather more."

  And Dale-Bulmer laughed a rather nervous, guilty laugh.

  "Up-stairs somewhere?"

  "Yes--look you here! She was picking up those matches when I spotted herfrom this door, and out she streaked through that one over there. Comeand have a look at her line of country, doctor."

  It led into an anteroom or inner hall, or the well of some staircasestill to come, with a lashed ladder towering in its midst, but not quitereaching a skeleton landing of yawning joists. Dale-Bulmer gazed aloft,wagging a horizontal beard.

  "Surely she didn't go up there?" said Dollar.

  "Like a lamplighter, doctor! I went the way we'll both go now, if it'sall the same to you."

  A fine forked staircase bore them from the lower corridor to itscounterpart above. And here the leader trod gently, a finger laid acrosshis lips.

  "That's the room," he whispered, pointing to a shut door in a sidepassage. "I--I almost think I'll leave her to you, doctor. It's notlocked--not the door."

  "I thought she was your prisoner?"

  "Yes--but you'll see where she's hidden herself. I did turn _that_ key,doctor, but that's all I did. Still, I think I'd rather you let herout."

  There was nothing facetious in his droll air of guilt; he seemed reallyrather ashamed of his impetuous measures, as if long in doubt as totheir gallantry, and abashed by the unspoken criticisms of the man whomhe had brought so far afield on the spur of a flustering moment. But thetruth was that Dollar did not blame him in the least, as he turned thehandle softly, and heard a pusillanimous step retreating down thecorridor.

  It was a light and lofty room, with a broad bay-window overlooking thepark; and in the bay a window-seat forming a coffer, which had beenbroken open from within; and just clear of the splinters, her handsraised to her disheveled hair, hat awry and country clothes begrimed, ayoung woman risen like Aphrodite from the foam. She had been gazing outas she put herself to rights; but at the opening of the door she turnedwith a light disdain, and the pair of them stood rooted to the floor.

  "Lady--Vera!" he could only gasp.

  She made him an abrupt little bow; then her head went back to thetruculent angle necessitated by a jelly-bag hat worn almost as a mask;and her eyes hung under the brim like great blue rain-drops, grim andgleaming, but with little of his blank amazement, and nothing of theshame that shook his soul.

  "No wonder you would never see me!" he muttered more to himself than toher. "Not a word even when I wrote--and I wondered what I'd done! Ithought of heaps of things--but I never thought of this!"

  She shook her head as abruptly as she had bowed; the blue rain-dropslooked frozen where they hung, but the firm lips parted impulsively.Instinct prepared him for something inconceivable. But herself-restraint was a lesson and a reproof; and, in laying it to heartand listening to what she did say he for the moment ceased fromwondering what it was that she had just kept back--what charge she haddeferred against him.

  "Tell me one thing, Doctor Dollar." Her voice was all that it had beenin other emergencies, only colder by some degrees. "Have you beenfollowing me, or is this pure chance?"

  "Not chance--pure Fate!"

  "Did you dog me down here, or did you not?"

  "Not consciously. Do I look as if I had?"

  "You look as if you'd seen a ghost," she told him, with a sudden twinkleof the big blue drops.

  "So I have!" he cried in passionate earnest. "I've seen the ghost ofeverything I held most----"

  "Thank you," she said quietly, when he had checked himself on her model."I know what you must think--what you really have a special right tothink--after two years ago. Do be generous and don't say it! This isn'taltogether fun for me, you know, much less after being buried alive forhours!" She just turned her head toward the broken window-seat, and hiseyes devoured the light upon her profile. "What's going to happen to me?Is my natural enemy a friend of yours? Has he sent for the police?"

  "No--for me instead."

  "Did he know who it was at sight?"

  "He didn't, and he doesn't, and he never shall unless you tell him!"exclaimed Dollar vehemently. "O Vera, when I was longing to see you, towarn you against your enemies, that you should go the way to putyourself more than ever in their power!"

  A glitter under the tilted hat had unconsciously rebuked an unconsciousliberty; yet once this man had begged this woman to marry him, and onceshe had practically said she would but for the burden on her soul.Ceremony, at least, they had foregone of old. Was it merely her newlease of error that had come between them of late months? He wasbeginning to ask himself the question when she broke in with one of herown:

  "What enemies do you mean, Doctor Dollar?"

  "We are not to speak of two years ago."

  "Croucher!" She shuddered almost like a law-abiding lady. "I haven'theard of him since that night in the train."

  "I said you wouldn't But I also said, if you remember, that Croucher wasonly deadly as a tool. Well, he has fallen into the deadliest hands Iknow--that's all."

  It was not, and Lady Vera knew that it was not. The angle of her hat wasall amicable attention now, and her eyes shone clear of the brim, with asofter light that made her all at once incredible in her latestincarnation. Dollar's feelings flew back into his face; she read themwith a smile that made him wince, by its cynical resemblance to one ortwo that still enriched his dreams.

  "You think I'm as bad as any of them," she divined aloud.

  "I think the crime of arson is worse than most crimes," he made sturdyanswer, standing up to the little body with the strangest difficulty, asthough he were the culprit and she the man. "It's a thing absolutelynothing on earth can possibly excuse. I think you'd have died ratherthan descend to it--two years ago!"

  He had heard a step behind him, and lowered his voice; but Lady Veraraised hers as a burly form halted shyly on the threshold; and her tonewas like none that she had taken hitherto.

  "Two years ago," she declaimed, "women had not been treated quite soshabbily as they have been since. Then this miserable Government--"

  "Look you here!" blustered Dale-Bulmer, striding out of his shyness intothe center of the stage.

  "Two years ago," she reiterated for his benefit, "it wasn't war to thehandle of the knife! Now it would be fire and sword, if we were any goodwith the sword; as we are not, it's simply fire!"

  "You really think you can burn your way to political power?" cried theman of extremes, with ungovernable indignation.

  "Political existence is all we ask."

  "As a first instalment! I know you! I come from a country where youstarted just like that!"

  "As you told your audience the other night, if you are Mr. Dale-Bulmer,"said Lady Vera, with an explosive little sigh.

  "I am; and for that I'm to have a house like this burned to the ground;and you ladies think that's the way to advance your cause, to prove yourvalue to the State! Well, I suppose you know your own business best.It's no use reasoning with you; but it really is enough to set one off,after what I caught you doing down-stairs."

  "I wish to goodness you hadn't caught me," cried Lady Vera, with quiteextraordinary simplicity.

  But neither of them took her up; the doctor could only shake his head inprofessi
onal despair, while the injured householder recovered hiscomposure, and the little criminal looked as if she were trying not tolook the mistress of the situation.

  "I only came," resumed Dale-Bulmer, rather as one who had no right inthe room, "to say that a run-about car has been found in the yard behindone of the empty lodges. As I fancy your friends were on bicycles, itstruck me that the two-seater might perhaps be yours?"

  Was it just the nature of the man to change his whole manner in amoment, or had the quality of the woman something to do with it? Heseemed unconscious of the change himself--unaware that he had droppedinto a tone of courteous consideration bordering almost on theapologetic. But the corners of her little mutinous mouth showed thatnothing was lost upon Lady Vera.

  "It sounds like mine," she confessed without indecent amusement. "But Ihope you don't think, because there's room for two, that there's anotherof us still concealed about the premises? I came down quite by myself,in the car you have discovered. And who's to drive it back to townagain, I'm sure _I_ don't know!"

  Dale-Bulmer glanced defiantly at Dollar, a flash-light in his eyes.

  "I do," he cried. "Yourself!"

  "Myself, Mr. Dale-Bulmer? In--handcuffs?"

  And it was not her worst smile that was subdued in deference to the fullglow of his shamefaced magnanimity.

  "Don't talk nonsense!" said he gruffly. "Your car is ready waiting foryou at the door."

  "Not really?"

  "Of course. I buried you alive, didn't I?" His eyes came from thewrecked window-seat. "Won't that meet the immediate case for martyrdom?"And he managed another twinkle after all.

  It was a last amenity. He had been thanked, but without the smile whichhad been ready enough when it was out of place; now that she had causeto smile, the perversity of these women came out, as of course it would!Not that this one took everything quite for granted; on the contrary,she caused an explosion by offering to pay for the damage to thewindow-seat. The militant party would have wished him to secure amplecompensation from his insurance people, she asserted, if the place _had_been burned down. "Then I might have built the kind of house I reallywant, instead of trying to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear!" hehad retorted in his better manner, as though he had been a fool tointerfere.

  But it was not his best manner; it was almost as unrepresentative as thecalm self-centered way in which the released prisoner spent the lastminutes looking for her gloves, and, when she failed to find them, heldout her bare hand with a brazen air of innocence, and no more thanksthan would have become a parting guest.

  Even John Dollar felt a new pang of disappointment as the two-seatershrank panting out of sight and ear-shot, beneath the bronzed timber ofthe disappearing drive, and Dale-Bulmer turned on his heel under thearch.

  "Doesn't that take the cake?" he cried, when he had swallowed his piquewith a chastened chuckle. "A real well-bred 'un--if ever there wasone--playing the very devil, and carrying it off like a little angel oflight! That's what did me--the way she carried it off! I wanted to giveher a fatherly word, to tell her not to go on making such a wickedlittle fool of herself. But she simply wouldn't look the part, wouldshe? I hadn't even the cheek to ask her name--had you?"

  "No. I don't know why you let her off," said Dollar, irritably; but atthe moment he hated Dale-Bulmer for extorting his common gratitude atthe expense of his sacred flame.

  "Why?" cried that cavalier. "Didn't you guess how I found out about hercar?"

  "How?"

  "Reported to me by the police!"

  "The police? Were there any about?"

  Dollar felt as cold down the back as though his sacred flame had neverflickered behind iron bars.

  "Two blighters," said Dale-Bulmer. "I caught sight of 'em just after Ihad left you to have it out with her. That's what they had to say forthemselves when I went out to let off steam; swore they were fromScotland Yard, and trumped up the two-seater when I pretended not tobelieve them. Nor did I till I'd run them down to the lodge and seen itfor myself."

  "And then?"

  "I swore it belonged to a friend, of course, and sent them both to thedevil."

  "And--and you were man enough not to say a word about it to--to her?" Itwas as much as Dollar could do to keep his enthusiastic respect withinbounds of discretion.

  "Man enough? I wasn't going to have that sort of carrion coming in andspoiling _your_ job!"

  Then he perceived how he had spoilt it himself; hung his great head likean elderly elephantine schoolboy; turned his broad back with aninimitable shrug, and stood shaken to the pit with sobs of mirth. Dollarjoined him with a shout that relieved them both. And they roaredtogether until a gaunt caretaker appeared on the scene, with a faceexpressive of such crass bewilderment that their poor clay quaked with asecond shock.

  "He lives in the bowels of the house," moaned Dale-Bulmer. "He doesn'tknow a thing that's happened. If he did I might have to double hisscrew. And--and I'd much rather treble your fee!"

  He was solemn once more in his remorse, but not so solemn as the doctorhad become within a minute.

  "I would _pay_ a fee to take his place till to-morrow morning! I meanit, my dear sir. If you think you owe me any little amends, let me dothis, for my own satisfaction!"

  This from a Dollar at whom the other stared as though they had only justmet. It was the crime doctor come at last.

  "Stay here for the night, Doctor Dollar?"

  "Yes--alone."

  "But why, my good fellow?"

  "I can hardly tell you; only let me stay, if you can trust me!"

  "You know it isn't that."

  "Then do let me! It isn't so much for your sake--I won't pretend itis--yet what if there should be a second attempt on the house? Then Imight even earn the fee you talk about; otherwise, not a brass farthing!I wouldn't have missed the case for anything, even as it stands. And youonly took my treatment out of my mouth; you did the very thing I wasgoing to beg you to do, but not more earnestly than I beg of you now toleave me in charge here to-night."

  "But not without this man of mine to look after you?"

  "Especially without that man of yours! He gave me the idea--he's my ownheight and build--we can change places beautifully. I want him to puton my cap and coat and goggles, and to drive away in my car, so thatanybody looking would think they had seen the last of me."

  "But who should be looking? Surely not that little----"

  "God forbid! But perhaps somebody on her side--or perhaps only somebodyon her tracks. Curious about those two detectives; but the wholebusiness bristles with curiosities, which I long to investigate inpeace, unknown to the whole outside world. This is the only way it canbe done; and this, my dear Mr. Dale-Bulmer, is the one and only thingthat you can do for me!"

  The boy with the beard gave way by inches. As long as there was a dog'schance of any further excitement, he did not see why he should be out ofit, much less in his own house, and after the humdrum life he had ledsince Labor and the Ladies had driven him home from Australia. But theman with the stronger will seemed perfectly sincere in his furtherasservations that there were features in the case which he wanted tostudy for his own private and professional ends; that he honestlybelieved, they had no more to fear from their friends the enemy, butthat somebody ought to remain on guard, that he was the obvious man. Allthis rang true enough; and but for Dollar's strange anxiety in thematter, and Dale-Bulmer's sudden discovery that he squinted, the planmight have gained earlier acceptance than it did. It was settled,however, by a timely telephone call from the Australian's furnishedhouse at Esher, to ask if anything had happened to him, and was he nevergoing to tear himself away from Pax Monktons Chase?

  Thus it was nearly five o'clock before the crime doctor was alone atlast, with certain plain quarters and plainer fare at his disposal, butwith every nook and cranny of a country mansion to himself until nextmorning. The situation had the intrinsic charm of all lonely vigils;even if nothing was likely to come of this one, it would at least affordthat continuous poss
ibility of a thrill which becomes more thrillingthan the thrill itself. And the whole business was supremely after JohnDollar's heart; nothing could have been more congenial to him; and yet,though he did look forward to the night, and whatever the night mightstill bring forth, it was not for the night's sake that he hadmaneuvered to remain in the empty house. It was for the residue ofdaylight, and the systematic investigations it would enable him to make.

  On these he started, with the precaution of a seaman marooned on adesolate island, not indubitably uninhabited, as soon as the front doorshut upon Dale-Bulmer and the two chauffeurs, with the gaunt caretakerhis muffled image in his own car. And these motorists were not followedout of sight or hearing, from the fading pile that looked so empty inthe drooping eye of heaven. But it very soon seemed to the man within asif the whole house were a-hum with its own abysmal silence, and hislightest breath a stertorous disturbance of its ponderous peace.

  He began by searching the unfurnished room in which the fire would haveoriginated. There could be no doubt about the fell attempt so nearlymade. It would have been diabolically certain of success. Thescaffolding, like sticks in a gigantic grate; the draft through thejoists, where the floor had been taken up; the natural flue formed bythe adjoining well, so lofty that an ordinary ladder was too short toreach the landing--all these were as bellows and chimney, and the bestof fuel ready laid for lighting. And here were the shavings, all nicelyswept together, and the matches spilled at the last moment; as Dollarput them back into the box, his finger-tips ached for all they mighthave learned from that which they held--for the whole truth about theguilty hand which had let the match-box fall.

  It was the whole truth, too, that he was seeking next upon his knees, inthe rubble down between the joists; some fresh fact, still inconceivableas a concrete discovery, that he hoped against hope to find and to setagainst the facts beyond dispute. Facts could not lie, but they mightexaggerate; somewhere, surely, there must be something to extenuate,something to redeem even this atrocious attempt, if only the silentwalls could speak up for one who never made excuses for herself!

  It was a childish instinct, a quite babyish yearning to undo what hasonce been done, and yet this had been the spring of that dense desire tobe left behind in the house at all costs. Then he had only felt it, likea dull ache; now it became a dear and poignant conviction that there wassome discovery still to make, and that he was the man to make it; thatone of these walls had a word to say to him, and to him alone.

  But it was none of the new bricks and mortar, wanting even their firstcoat of plaster; it was nothing under the lofty rafters of a quietbaronial hall where the builder had not been turned loose, nor anyintruder left a trace; it was not in the round room, filled with a firstinstalment of the Dale-Bulmer furniture, nor yet anywhere elsedown-stairs, in spite of the shrill tale told by the scullery window.There the Amazons had entered, after breaking a pane like journeymenburglars. They had fled incontinently by the door. But what else hadthey done, and where else had they been, within those sardonicallysilent walls?

  Had they been up-stairs before Vera Moyle ran up the ladder? Dollarreturned to that speaking spot, and climbed up gingerly, in an agony ofenthusiasm for her misused pluck. The gap between the top rung and thenew landing was unpleasant even for him, and he was at least a foottaller than the little fool. The little fool! A pretty way to think ofher, even now; but there was a worse way; and still there was a better,vaguely haunting him all the time, but almost ceasing to be vague in theroom where he had found her in the flesh. He could see her there again.She had not faced him like a little fool, but a little heroine, Godforgive her! Not so much as a pout about her horrible imprisonment underthe window-seat! Not a moment's loss of dignity, even after that; not amoment's loss of temper. Head up, and eyes shining in the shadow of herwicked little hat!

  Here, to an inch, he had caught her gazing out of that window, out anddown into the chase--rolling right up to the house on this side--beatingagainst a breakwater of a sunk fence just underneath, and dotted withleafy sail. Deer in the distance, and swallows darting across and acrossthe window, like shuttles weaving the scene in silk, brought the pictureback to good dry land. But the wide sky was still rather like a sea-sky;and it had lightened again with the approach of evening; there weresilver rims to the clouds, as John Dollar tore himself from theenchanted scene.

  "Now look at this one"]

  It was nearly dark when he returned unsteadily, with a face like acheer--with a face that would have lighted up a tomb. In his hands heclasped a pair of innocent little gloves, that anybody might have found,and somebody traced to their beloved little owner. But that was not all.A wall had spoken, in certain handwriting hastily rubbed out, and awhole bathroom had told a yet more eloquent tale!

  Hours later they were speaking still, wafting sweet music through thecorridors, filling the honored room with strains of joy for theenchanted man on the broken window-seat, all in the dark at dead ofnight. There might have been a moon; he did not know. There might havebeen a stealthy advance, in very open order--a taking of cover behindtrees wide apart--a joining of forces down there in the dark, that wasnot so dark if one was used to it. But Dollar had been for hours gazinginto his own heart, and that was still so dazzlingly alight that hemight not have seen anything if he had looked out; it still sang so loudthat he heard nothing down-stairs until there was noise enough to wake adeeper dreamer out of actual sleep.

  Even then he scarcely knew what had brought him so suddenly to feetgrown numb, but not more numb than the whole outer man in the endlessinner joy of that which he believed himself to have discovered alongwith his dear lady's gloves. Those sacred relics he still clasped in hishands, and that fond belief he was still hugging in his heart, when alouder sound pricked his undertaking to the quick. It was the sound ofvoices in the empty house. He tore off his shoes, limped over to thedoor, opened it as softly, and stood listening in a heavy horror. Theywere women's voices, accompanied by the scuttle of women's feet!

  In an instant, but still with an instinctive stealth, he was out on thelanding at the head of the stairs. And there, but only there, his fonddream ended in an awakening as terrible as any nightmare; for one womanstood on the half-landing between the two prongs of the forkedstaircase; all attention she stood, as if on guard; hair silvered by ashaft of moonshine through the staircase window, shoulders hunchedintently, but the head itself just tilted as if in sudden alarm, andfull in the moonlight the wicked unmistakable little hat of Lady VeraMoyle.

  Her gloves dropped out of his hands. Did she hear them fall? She lookedas if she had; he had not the heart to make sure. He had nothing likethe heart to confront and shame her first--at her worst a passive partyto the crime--when her guiltier companions were even then at their vilework lower down. The ladder was the thing! Then he could scare thoseothers first, and she and he need never meet at all. Better never againthan at this hideous juncture! And as for him, better death itself thansuch a death to such a dream!

  It was a sheer stampede the man made now, back along the landing withgreat heavy strides, even shouting as he went to put the she-devils toflight. It was what he called them as he ran; had they not dragged anangel into this. And they heard him, and he heard them--scuttling andclucking in headlong flight.

  This time they could afford to fly; their second attempt was no failurelike the first. The little new landing was like a gridiron over aflickering glare from the well beneath. Dollar flung his full length onthe brink--hung dangling from the armpits--hung lashing out for theladder like a boy on a horizontal bar with a mattress just underneath.The top rung took some finding in his reckless haste; and then hishands had to change places with his feet; and it was all a prettydesperate business for no light-weight, in a frenzy of excitement, atthe tip-top of a tremulous ladder that leaned against thin air. But hisvery recklessness saw him down somehow with unbroken bones, and on thethreshold of the burning room before the fire had really taken hold. Andthere he stopped, instead of dashing in; there
he stood shrinking fromthe red light within.

  For again one of the women had stayed behind the rest; and through aforest of scaffolding poles, and a swirl of smoke and steam, he beheldher in a glow already dying by her hand, under a hissing stream flungright and left, in glittering coils and spirals, as coolly as a gardenerwaters the grass. It was his very dream, come true in the end! AndDollar stood there because he was ashamed to look Vera Moyle in theface--after fearing for one moment that it was nothing but a dream!

  But last of all the stream played through the darkness and the smoke,upon the threshold even at his feet, and a dry voice cried:

  "I see you all right! I saw you up-stairs; come round and tell me whyyou ran away."

  The little landing was like a gridiron]

  But it was no moment for going round. He went to her through sparks andsplinters in his socks, and felt the pain no more than the relief whenhe stood beside her on the cool flags of the corridor, with both herhands in his.

  "I might have known!" he spluttered through the smoke. "I might haveknown it even from the first!"

  "It's jolly bad luck that you should know it at all," said Lady Vera, inthe same dry little voice. "I'm not proud of it, I can tell you."

  "Not of stopping an absolutely wanton crime?"

  "Not of turning against my old lot--and I haven't, either!" cried LadyVera, with more passion than he had ever heard from her. "I feeleverything I said up-stairs. I think we've all been treated moreabominably than ever. I don't blame them a bit for all this sort ofthing----"

  "Vera, you do--you know you do!"

  "I don't; how can I? Haven't I done worse? I may think they're goingrather far, and I may put in my spoke----"

  "This is not the first time!" he exulted, still only with her hands inhis, yet little knowing how he hurt them.

  "That's my business," she said, with a sudden laugh that broke hervoice. "It's the least I can do--after two years ago."

  "And I knew you'd done it!" he was quick to cry. "I knew it hours back,though you did frighten me again just now. I found the hose-pipe in thebathroom with your gloves, and their rotten message rubbed out on thewall! I knew the hose was yours, because I'd just been told there wasn'tsuch a thing in the house. But I was looking for something of the kind.I knew there was something to be found, that the whole thing wasn't whatit seemed. And ever since it's been the happiest night of my life, ontop of my most miserable hour!"

  "I'll motor you back to town for that," said Lady Vera, with anotherpoor little laugh. "I--I'm sorry I didn't tell you this afternoon."

  "I'm not!"

  "Somehow it didn't seem quite the game by the others, though of course Ihoped you would guess that I had only come in after them as a kind ofscarecrow. Of course I don't know if it will make you the least bit lessmiserable----" But there she stuck.

  "If what will?"

  And now it was she who held his hands the faster--only across a gulf ofdarkness like a solid wall--only with a kindness that reminded him itwas nothing else--only with a glow more dear than an embrace.

  "If it makes you the very least bit happier," she whispered, "why, ofcourse it was only just your own game, doctor, that I was trying toplay!"

  VIII

  THE SECOND MURDERER

  It was yet another Lady Vera who brought her own sunshine out of theweeping dusk of that October morning. To veil embarrassment on eitherside, Dollar had switched off the light by which he had just read theline scribbled on her card; but there was no sanction for his nervoussensibility in the little picture he beheld next moment. An audaciousstudy in Venetian red--a tripping fashion-plate with a practicalwaist--it was only Vera by virtue of the radiant face between thedonkey-eared toque and the modish modicum of fur. And though theradiance was lovely as ever in his eyes, and lovelier still as asurprise, this frivolous modernity was pain and puzzledom to Dollaruntil their hands met, and the one in the tight glove trembled.

  "It's no use beating about the bush," said Vera Moyle, and there was nosort of tremor in her voice. "Do you mind telling me exactly what youknow of a Mr. Mostyn Scarth?"

  "Mostyn Scarth!" cried Dollar. "Do _you_ know him?"

  "Only too well!"

  "I was afraid of it."

  "But I want your opinion and experience of him first. I believe you sawsomething of each other in Switzerland?"

  "We did," replied Dollar weightily. "He was supposed to be looking aftera young temporary lunatic, who was of age, rich, and not irresponsiblein the eye of the law. Scarth induced the boy to leave him vast sums ofmoney in a will, and then made two distinct attempts to murder him."

  "No!"

  "He did. You ask what I know of this man, and I make no bones abouttelling you. It's a thing the whole world ought to know for itsprotection. He made two separate attempts on the lad's life, the lastmore ingenious than the first; first he tried to poison him by means ofa forged prescription, and next to break his neck by tampering with histoboggan."

  "In Switzerland, when you were there?"

  "I was sent for after the first effort; the second was made under mynose."

  "And yet you did nothing?"

  Lady Vera's indignation was not confined to the absent miscreant; herdemigod came in for his share.

  "There was not much to be done," he protested humbly. "We were in aforeign country; the evidence wouldn't have been overwhelming under ourown law. I let Scarth know that I had found him out, got the boy out ofhis clutches--pulled _him_ together all right--and laid the whole casebefore Topham Vinson when I came home. He consulted his law officers;they thought I had so little to go upon that our man wasn't even markeddown for surveillance by the police. I had to keep my own eye on himwhen he turned up in town again. Scarth made that easy by immediatelygetting on my tracks, and discovering in Mr. Croucher another old friendwho had his knife in me. They tried between them to pervert mychauffeur; then I lost sight of them; and it was then I wanted to putyou on your guard, but you were never in, and my letters seemed tomiscarry."

  "They didn't," said Lady Vera, with frank contrition. "I am ashamed totell you why I never answered them; but I will in a minute. So it wasMr. Scarth you meant when you told me the other day that poor Croucherhad fallen into such bad hands?"

  "Poor Croucher! Yes, it was; and there really is no comparison betweenthem. One was born in the scarlet, so to speak, but the other's the onlyreally educated and quite cold-blooded villain I have ever met."

  Vera Moyle sat forward in the patient's chair, in the very attitude oftwo years before, with the same firelight illumining the same steadfastlook of moral and intellectual honesty; and the fuller health upon hercheek, the deeper wisdom in her eyes, made no more difference to Dollarthan her superfluous smartness now. She was the same utterly candidcreature, about to tell him the whole truth about some fresh trouble,and extenuate nothing that concerned herself.

  "I don't want to waste many words on Mr. Scarth," she began, in theleast vindictive of human voices; "but I ought to tell you that I quiteliked him until the other day. I met him first at a country house wherehe was supposed to be tutoring the boys, but was really the life andsoul of the whole party. It was extraordinary how he ran everything andeverybody for those people; we were all devoted to him, and he says Iasked him to come and see us in town, but he certainly never came untilnear the end of this last season. Then he made up for lost time; he'scapital company, as you know, and we had him to dinner, and my eldestbrother asked him down to stay in August when I was there. That was whenwe saw most of each other, and Mr. Scarth asked me to marry him----"

  "Good God!"

  "Of course I didn't like him well enough for that, though he _had_ putme against _you_!"

  "How?" said Dollar grimly. She was still peering into the fire; but heflattered himself there was more than firelight in the flush that almostrivaled the Venetian red still nearer to the bars.

  "He knows what I did two years ago."

  "Croucher, of course?"

  "He said it was you--th
at you gave me away to him in Switzerland!"

  "And you believed him?"

  "He made it just credible. He said you told him in confidence; he showedme a letter in which you reminded him not to let it go any further."

  "A forgery!"

  "I see that now; but it was a very good one, written on your clubpaper."

  "The man's an expert forger. Anybody can go into a club to write a noteand steal some stationery. If only you had tackled me about it!"

  "I promised I wouldn't. I could hardly believe it of you, all thesame--not that you were the first to tell him. But--but it did put meoff--in spite of everything--and that was only in July."

  "Just when I was trying to see you, to put you on your guard!"

  She gave him her eyes at last, and they were wet but beaming. "I doubtedit still more from one or two things he said when we had our littlescene in the country; but I _knew_ there wasn't a word of truth in itbefore _you_ said a dozen words to me the other Sunday! It was all aplot to keep us apart--to get me under his thumb."

  "Did he threaten you when you--had your little scene?"

  "Not in so many words."

  "He will. That's where I shall come in."

  "His position was that I and my secret would only be safe with him."

  "As it never was with me?"

  "That was it; but now he knows that I don't believe him. I told him sowhen he called last week."

  "So you have had another little scene?"

  "I cut it short at that."

  "And there the matter ended?"

  "Between him and me."

  "Don't make too sure. You don't know your Mostyn Scarth as well as I do.I wonder what his next move will be!"

  The wonder lit the doctor's face with eager interest, but brighter stillwas the answering light under the toque with the ass's ears of wateredsilk.

  "I don't know about his next, but I can tell you what his latest moveis," said Lady Vera. "He has taken to dogging me all over the place, tosee if I don't commit another crime! He was one of the allegeddetectives at Pax Monktons Chase!"

  "Never!" cried Dollar, taken fairly by surprise. He had forgot almostevery feature of the affair in question, except how magnificently VeraMoyle had come out of it. The episode remained in his mind only as theone great dream of his that had come true as yet; the details haddisappeared like those of any other dream.

  "I happen to know it," said Lady Vera, with some little embarrassment."I had it from--the other detective."

  "Not--" and Dollar stopped to frown--"not Croucher himself?"

  "Yes."

  "He has dared to speak to you!"

  "For the very first time since that night in the train; now do listen,and be fair to the poor fellow. He never was as bad as you thought him;you say yourself that he's a saint compared with Mr. Scarth." Dollar wastoo savage to smile at this free version of what he had said. "Well,they have fallen out, and Croucher's in a bad way altogether; and hehas turned to me for a helping hand--not for money or anything of thatkind."

  "Not the least little hint of blackmail?"

  "Not a word or a sign of anything of the sort, except that he asked meto forgive him for the other time, and of course I did."

  "Of course you would, though he actually robbed you under arms!" criedDollar, as sardonically as he felt he must.

  But he was let off with the caution of a frown that would have escapedattention on a face less consistently serene than Lady Vera Moyle's.

  "You forget what he had been through first," said she, gently. "Withinforty-eight hours of execution, for something he had never done!Thinking what he thought, and I neither denied nor admitted, then or atany time, the wonder is not that he behaved as badly as he did thatnight, but as well as he has ever since. However much you frightened himat the time, he might have gone on blackmailing me without yourknowledge, and that's the last thing he's trying to do now. But I wantto do something for him! You say yourself that he has fallen into theworst of hands--well, I want to get him out of them. You once told methat, when you had him here before, you found yourself trying to make adecent being of him, and beginning to feel that you might almostsucceed. Doctor, I want you to try again, for my sake! He is frightfullysorry for what he did before, and he has been very badly used by MostynScarth. He looks ill. I want you to save his life, and more than hislife! He has told me with tears in his eyes that he was never so happyas when you had him here before. Dear man, do take him in again, andgive him one more chance, to please me!"

  Her voice had broken, and for once her eyes had played her false aswell, and Dollar had waited grimly while she recovered her voice ordried her eyes. But he could not answer grimly when in her turn shewaited for him to speak. In her frivolous little blazing skirt, in thetoque that he liked even less; over-dressy as he dared to think her inhis simple heart of hearts, she appealed to him the more profoundly forthose very vanities, so far from vanity were the letter and the spiritof her intercession.

  "So you really came to see me about Alfred Croucher?" said Dollar, butvery gently, without the faintest accent of reproach.

  "It was about both of them, but chiefly about him," she admitted. "Ofcourse I wanted to check his account of Mr. Scarth. If you had given hima good character, that would have been the end; but you gave him a muchworse one than I expected. Croucher seems almost immaculate bycomparison; honestly, I shouldn't wonder if he were less lost to decencythrough his very association with a man so much worse than himself."

  "Did he tell you so?"

  "He said it had brought him up with a round turn."

  "It's possible," said Dollar, not more dryly than he could help. "Thepsychology is all right." He was smiling and nodding now. "And where isMr. Croucher at the moment?"

  "Walking up and down outside."

  "Until we call him in?"

  "If only you will let me!"

  She was on her feet, to take him at his word as soon as spoken; but hesaid that was Barton's job, and, wondering aloud how Barton would likeit, went out presumably to see. He was not gone long, and in anotherminute Alfred Croucher was cringing before them like a beaten cur.

  But few curs whine as this one did that morning, while the crime doctorlistened and their little lady winced. She was right about one thing. Hedid look ill; his cough was not altogether put on. He had been "tretsomefink crool," he declared, but without entering into particulars, forwhich Dollar did not press; but on the character of Mostyn Scarth therewere no such reservations. Croucher denounced that monster with thewhite hatred of a holy warrior, casting up his eyes with all manner ofpassionate and pious invocations.

  "Only take me away from 'im, before it's too late!" he implored,reluctant murder in the whites of his rolling eyes. "'E's a bad man, avery bad man 'e is! The 'appiest days o' me life was wot I spent in 'ereeighteen munf ago. It seems more like eighteen years--'ard. I nevershould've quit but for Shod, wot's got a good long stretch for 'ispines. 'E's another bad man; but for 'im you 'ad me in the 'oller of yer'and, and might 've made a man o' me in no time."

  "Yet you went straight from me to threaten and rob the lady who sent youhere!"

  It was a dangerous opening, but Croucher did not take it. In ignobleemotion he fell upon the knees of a flash pair of trousers, which stillshowed the track of an ineradicable crease, and once more sued for themercy and forgiveness already vouchsafed to him. And Lady Vera turnedfrom the sly, leering, blinking, darting eyes to a pair turned hard asnails, and the harder for an oblique inner twinkle all their own.

  "All right!" snapped Dollar, to her intense relief. "I'll take you in,Croucher, for better or worse. Well make it for better, if we can; butdo get to your two legs, man, instead of fawning on all four! Are youfree to stop as you are, or is there anything you want to settle upfirst?"

  "There's me rooms," said Croucher, eagerly. "There's nuffink worthfetching, but I shouldn't like to bilk the people, 'speshly w'en 'erlidyship's gawn an' give me the money, Gawd bless 'er!"

  Dollar precipitated the
creature's exit, on the verge of fresh sauriantears, of which there were further signs for his benefit on the mat. Hemight be a bad man, too, might Mr. Croucher, but he wasn't as bad asMostyn Scarth. And in that modest claim, at least, there was a bittersincerity which received its due in a nod of keen acknowledgment.

  "I never did think you were more than a second murderer, Croucher!"

  "Wot's that?"

  The whites of those quick, furtive eyes were showing quite horribly in amoment.

  "Only a technical expression, Croucher, meaning the minor malefactor."

  And he returned rather slowly into the eager presence of Lady VeraMoyle.

  "I suppose I mustn't fawn, either," she said, in the softened tone ofone of her rare rebukes. "But--_do_ you think you can make anything ofhim--this time?"

  "I hope so; but I shall be very glad to have him back, even if I failagain."

  "Why?"

  The crime doctor gave her another of his oblique smiles.

  "I shall be all the better able to watch Scarth's latest move," hesaid.

  II

  Over against the back windows of a nice new street of tall red houses,beyond the high red wall enclosing their common strip of shrubs andgravel, runs a humbler row of windows in connection with a mews. In oneyou may still catch a coachman shaving for the box, but more likely achauffeur's lady engrossed in her novelette; and on the next sill arepots of geraniums, while the next but one keeps the evening's kippersnice and fresh. Most of the windows have muslin curtains, and in somethe lights are on all night. Last October there was only one without anykind of covering, except a newspaper stuck across a broken pane.

  It was the scandal of the row; a battered billycock lay rotting on theroof above; strange fragments of song were always liable to burst fromwithin, as of a gentleman roistering in his sleep, and at times abristly countenance would roll red eyes over the backs of the redhouses, beginning and ending with the flats at the bottom of the street.If a dark handsome face appeared simultaneously at a top flat window,the chances were that both would vanish, but it would have beendifficult to detect the exchange of actual signals.

  On the return of Alfred Croucher, shaven and collared, from the audiencein Welbeck Street, he went so far as to wink and wave from the windowthat disgraced the mews to the one that crowned the flats. His rollingeyes still had their whites about them; his wrists were still inunaccustomed cuffs; and Mostyn Scarth was at his elbow before it couldbe lifted with the bottle brought in to celebrate the occasion.

  "Just one!" said Croucher, pitching his mongrel whine in the key ofcomic extravaganza. "I deserve all ten fingers for what I got to tellyer!"

  "Not a drop, my Lazarus!" said Scarth. "When do you move in?"

  "To-day--now."

  "You shall have the whole bottle when you come out. You may want it.What about that stamped note-paper?"

  "Couldn't lay 'ands on a scrap."

  "Hadn't you the waiting-room to yourself?"

  "My witin'-room was the street, gov'nor."

  "Well, I must have a sheet or two as soon as you can stick them in thepost; three or four would be safer, and at least a couple of hisenvelopes, in case of accidents. Now tell me everything that happened;and perhaps you _shall_ have a drink before you go."

  There was no light that night in the window with the broken pane pastedover with newspaper; next day it was mended properly, and the soddenbillycock removed from the roof before Alfred Croucher awoke from hisinnocent and protracted slumbers in the crime doctor's patent chamber ofperpetual peace.

  His first impression was that some mysterious miracle had been performedexpressly for his behoof. He must have been drunk to have slept sosound, and yet he had none of the disagreeable sensations which a longexperience associated with the ordinary orgy. He felt profoundly restedand refreshed; never had he lain in so luxurious a bed; and the air wasfaintly scented, subtly soothing, and there was plenty of it, yet not asound except the gentle stirring of his own breathing body between thesheets. His palate was clean and cool beyond belief. He opened his eyes,and saw a plain room sharp as crystal to the sight: not the bronzebedchamber that he suddenly remembered, but the same place steeped inpurest sunshine, and ten thousand times fairer for the change.

  Then he knew where he was, and precisely why he was there; and it wasthe mental equivalent of what Mr. Croucher called "'ot coppers," onlythis made him hot all over. He might have been in a fever; he hopedviolently that he was. He remembered his cough, and began to practiseit. A determined paroxysm revived his spirits; he was not fit to get up,and other people would just have to wait until he was, and serve 'emjolly well right!

  Other people couldn't get at him there; yet one other person could, anddid, to Mr. Croucher's mingled discomfort and relief. The doctor dulykept him in bed; but there was too much of the doctor; and yet the timehung heaviest when he was not there, and there were heavier burdens eventhan the time. The patient had lost his liking for a book. Conversationwas more to his taste this time. His mind would wander when he read. Itwould follow the doctor down-stairs to his consulting-room, or acrossthe landing to the room in which he slept. The man haunted him; it wasbetter to have him there in the flesh, than to see him as Crouchercontinually saw him when he was not there at all.

  Better, again, to talk of some things than to dwell on them night andday, especially when those subjects seemed to possess an equally awfulfascination for the crime doctor. Of course, they were in his line; thataccounted for the doctor's morbid taste, and the patient's most terribleexperience was quite enough to account for his. There was nothingunnatural in their talks. They had the thing in common, only fromopposite poles of experience, which enormously enhanced the mutualinterest. If there was one subject they were bound to have discussed,with no false delicacy on either side, each being what he was, it wasthe subject of the sixth commandment.

  "Of course you think about it," said Dollar, dismissing an incoherentexcuse on the second day. "It must haunt you; it's only natural that itshould. All I should like you to do, since you never committed one, andare the last man in the world to commit one now, is to take a ratherlighter view of that particular misdeed."

  "A lighter view!" repeated Croucher, goggling; and he added with ashuddering inconsequence: "The lor o' the land don't make light of it!"

  "Literature has been known to," rejoined the doctor, with as littleapparent point. "But you are not the reader you were last year;otherwise there's a little thing, _On Murder Considered as One of theFine Arts_, that I should like to lend you."

  "One o' the 'ow much?" said Mr. Croucher, uncertain whether to grin, orfrown, and meanwhile glaring more than he supposed.

  Dollar went for the book, and read a few extracts aloud. They appearedto afford him extraordinary enjoyment; they were altogether over thebullet head on the pillow. Croucher could only gather that some peopleseemed to imagine it was good sport to commit a murder. Funny fools! Letthem try a fortnight in the condemned cell, for one they never didcommit, and see how they took to that!

  But he could understand them that knew nothing about it writing a lot ofrot like this; what beat him was that the crime doctor, of all people,and with all his uncanny knowledge of the subject, that even he wasable to view the worst of crimes in a light which would never havedawned on the independent intellect of Alfred Croucher. It seemed to hima more lurid light than any in which he himself, at his worst, had everseen such things; horrible, to his mind, that one who ran every risk ofbeing murdered should sit there gloating over "the shades of merit" inone murder, and over others as "the sublimest and most entire in theirexcellence that ever were committed." What was more horrible, however,was the hollow note of Mr. Croucher's own laughter, and the furtivegleaming of his restless eyes, while his body twitched between thesheets.

  He asked for the book when Dollar rose to go; and was discovered, in duecourse, bathed in a perspiration which he made less effort to conceal.

  "It ain't all like them funny bits," he assured the doctor, wit
h an openshudder. "There's a bit I struck about a servant gal, on one side of adoor, an' a bloke wot's done the 'ole bloomin' family in on the other.My cripes! I 'ad to 'old me breff over that, and it's made me sweat likea pig."

  "On which side of the door were you?"

  "Wot's that?"

  "In your mind's eye, my good fellow!"

  Mr. Croucher had seldom found it easier to tell the truth, and he madethe most of his opportunity.

  "I felt as if I was the gal," said he. "Shouldn't wonder if I dreamt Iwas 'er to-night!"

  "Ah! I always find myself on the inside," said Dollar, withextraordinary gusto. "I'd much rather have been the girl. She had theopen street behind her, and the street-lamps; he had only his ownhandiwork in the dark, and hardly room enough to step out of the way ofit. She got away, too, whereas he had to make away with himself. But Ialways would rather be the victim; he doesn't know what's coming; andit's not a thousandth part as bad as--the other thing--when it doescome.... I'm sorry, Croucher! You shouldn't have asked me to leave youthe book; but there's nothing like looking at a thing from all sides,and it may console you to know that you've perspired over the bestdescription of a murder ever written."

  Yet that was not the last of their morbid conversations; they wouldhardly be five minutes together before the noxious subject would cropup, nearly always through some reluctant yet irresistible allusion onthe patient's part. The doctor might come in overflowing with deliberategaiety; there was something about him that set the bulbous eyes rollingwith uneasy cunning, the cockney tongue wagging in its solitary strain,as it were under protest from the beaded brow.

  On one occasion Dollar was the prime offender. It was the day afterCroucher's introduction to De Quincey and the first bad night spent byanybody in the Chamber of Peace. He declared he had not slept a wink,and was advised to get up and go for a walk.

  "Alone?" said Croucher in a low voice.

  "Why not? This isn't prison, and I never hear you cough. _You_ are notgoing to die just yet, Croucher!"

  "I 'ope nobody is, not 'ere," said Croucher, with a horrid twitch. "Ifeel as it _might_ buck me up--a breff of air on a nice fine day likethis." His eyes rolled undecidedly, and the oil ran out of his voice."But it ain't no fun goin' out alone."

  "Haven't you any friends you could go and see?"

  "No!" cried Croucher, with an emphasis that pulled him up. "I--I mightwrite a letter, though--if you could spare me a bit o' paper wiv theaddress."

  It was a very short letter that Alfred Croucher wrote, but a remarkablythick envelope that he himself took to the post, after looking manytimes up and down the street. And at the pillar-box, which was not manyyards from the door, he again hesitated sadly before thrusting it in.

  In the afternoon Dollar took him out in the car, and then it was thatfor once the poisonous topic was not introduced by Mr. Croucher.

  "See that house?" said Dollar, pointing out one of the most modest inthe purlieus of Park Lane. "There was no end of a murder _there_ once.Swiss valet cut his master's throat, made what he flattered himself werethe hall-marks of burglars, and had the nerve to go into the room towake the dead man up next morning."

  "Fair swine, eh?" said Mr. Croucher, with all the symptoms of disgust.

  "A very fair artist, too," rejoined the disciple of De Quincey. "Thatwasn't his only good touch. He cut the old gentleman's throat from earto ear, and yet there wasn't a spot of blood on his garments. How doyou suppose he managed that? It's a messy operation, Croucher; you or Iwould have made a walking shambles of ourselves!"

  "How did he manage it?" asked Croucher, in a shaky growl.

  "By taking off every stitch before he did the trick. How about that fora tip?"

  Croucher made no reply. His teeth were clenched like those of a manbearing physical pain. They were nearly out of town, and Dollar haddiscoursed upon autumn tints and the nip in the air before beingabruptly interrogated as to the "fair swine's" fate.

  "Need you ask?" said he. "The poor devil was too clever by half, andmade a big mistake for each of his strokes of genius. He was taken,tried, condemned, and all the rest of it! And a greater writer than thegentleman who kept you awake last night wrote the best descriptionof--all the rest of it--in existence. But don't you ask me to lend youthat!"

  "They always seem to forget somefink," said Alfred Croucher, anotherlong mile out of town.

  "The first thing being that the best murders oughtn't to look likemurders," the criminologist agreed. "They ought to look like accidents,or suicides at the most. But it takes a Mostyn Scarth to cut as deep asthat."

  "Wot the 'ell mikes yer fink of 'im?" cried Croucher, in a fury at thevery name.

  "Well, among other things, the fact that he saw us off in the car justnow. Do you mean to say you didn't see through the false beard of thegentleman who was picking up his umbrella as we turned into WigmoreStreet?"

  III

  Never again did Alfred Croucher venture out alone, even as far as thepillar-box; not another letter had he to post, though he received one,wrapped round a stone, once when his window was open, and literallydevoured every word. He did go out, but only with the crime doctor inhis car, for an hour or two in the afternoon.

  More than once they got out at Richmond Park, sent the car across to oneof the other gates, and followed at a brisk walk, shoulder to shoulder,with Croucher often peeping over his, but Dollar never. The walk wassometimes broken for as long as it took Croucher to smoke a pipe in oneor another of the beautiful wooded enclosures which are the inner gloryof the most glorious of all public parks. There, under red canopies ofdying leaves, their feet upon a russet carpet of the dead, the smokerwould rest in a restless silence, because the one subject which had madehim eloquent was now tabooed. Even in the Chamber of Peace there was nopeace for Alfred Croucher, and but little sleep, although the doctor hadwalked him off his legs and would sit beside him till all hours. So theliterary and conversational treatment had been altered once for all; andnow the patient would hardly read or speak a word.

  Late one night, in the second half of the month, the crime doctor,seated like a waxwork in a chair that never creaked, had just made surethat his man was asleep at last. He decided to steal out and write someletters, and take them to the post himself before locking up; and wasgetting by inches to his catlike feet, when some sense held him bentlike a bow. It could hardly have been his hearing, in his ownsound-proof sanctuary between double windows and triple doors. Yetsuddenly he was all on edge, listening with nerves laid bare by forcedvigils in that slumberous room, brown as an Arab in its weird lighting;the silver patch in his hair changed from a florin to a new penny, thewhites of his eyes like broad gold rings; their one flaw augmented by aninfinite fatigue, their one care the human wreckage on thebed--shattered utterly by him, to be by him built up afresh, but not inthe midst of excursions and alarms. And here was the inmost dooropening, so softly, so slowly, at deadliest dead of night!

  It was a woman who entered like a ghost, and he knew her step, though hecould not hear it even now. And though her cloak and head-dress werethose of a trained nurse, he knew, rather than saw, that the wearer wasLady Vera Moyle.

  "Hush!" she was the first to whisper, and very softly closed the lastdoor, through which he would have hurried her out again. Already hersoundless movements, her air of vast precaution, puzzled him even morethan her presence or her dress; but he still had anxieties on this sideof the door.

  "Just asleep," he whispered, pointing to the bed. "Bad time I've givenhim, poor brute, but a better one coming, I do believe. Did you come tosee how he was doing?" Even in the stained light she looked so beamingnow, so frankly triumphant, he made sure that was it. "I'd have written,but thought you were away. Who let you in?"

  "This!"

  And she held up a new Yale key.

  "Where did you get it?"

  "Specially cut for me." Every line in his red man's face was a note ofblank interrogation. "Mostyn Scarth has another--cut specially for him!I've had him watched."r />
  "Vera!"

  "_I_ was watching _for_ him--from the nursing home opposite--suffragefriends of mine."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "You had enough to do."

  He shook his head. "Well?"

  "He's somewhere in the house."

  "This house?"

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  She nodded. "Hiding--in your room, I think."

  "I'll soon have him out!"

  "Wait!" She had eyes for the amber bed at last. "Are you sure he'sasleep?"

  Dollar stole across and back. The great frame was breathing gently andevenly as a child. "But he's a terribly light sleeper; we mustn'tdisturb him, if we can help it."

  "Disturb him!" She clutched his hand for the first time. "I wish to GodI had never brought him to you! There's a plot between them, doctor--Iknow there's some plot!"

  "There _was_, of course," he said, smiling, but wincing at his own "ofcourse" that instant. "I'm delighted you brought him," he reassured her."I've taken some of the plot out of him--and now for Mr. Scarth!"

  He reached past her to open the door. In a flash she put something inhis hand. It was a showy little revolver, the handle mother-of-pearl,the barrel golden in that light.

  "Thanks," he said-briefly--but there was a whole novel in his look. "Nowwill you do something more for me?"

  "No!" she said flatly, and was at his elbow when he opened his own dooracross the landing.

  It was such a plain little room that there was indeed small danger of asurprise from the concealed intruder. The only possible cover was underthe bed, behind the curtains, or in the wardrobe. Dollar just wentthrough the form of glancing under the bed, as he whipped up the pokerin his left hand; with it he parted the curtains, and in the same secondhad his man comfortably covered at arm's length.

  "Well done!" cried the girl.

  Scarth repaid her with a gleam of saturnine enlightenment; it was thefirst change in his swarthy, unemotional, unconquerable visage. On theBalkan battle-fields there may have been myriads of such faces, not withthe unique intellectual quality of this one, but alike in their fiercecontempt of battle, murder, and sudden death, as little matters notworth a qualm, whether in the active or the passive party to thebusiness. Among educated Englishmen the temperament is rare, and rarerstill the mental attitude; in the combination lie the makings of thehell-born villain, and Mostyn Scarth was the finished article.

  Stoical in his discomfiture, he saw his opening with no more than aglitter of his insolent eyes, and took it as though he had neverforeseen anything else.

  "So I've caught you both out, my virtuous friends!" said he. "And youdare to present that thing at me, as though I were here for a feloniouspurpose!"

  "I shall not empty it into you, Scarth, however much you may tempt me,"replied the crime doctor. "What do you say to clasping both hands behindyour head and leading the way down-stairs?"

  "I'll see you damned first," said Mostyn Scarth.

  "Good! It's exactly the same to me, only you may find it harder not totake one of those hands out of your trousers pockets, and the moment youshow a finger I shall cripple you for life. I thought, too, that youmight like to hear what we say to the police."

  "I don't take the faintest interest in what _you_ say to them," returnedScarth, with a broader gleam to light his meaning.

  "Good again! Do you mind going down and ringing up New Scotland Yard,Lady Vera? On your way you might please see if all three doors are shutin the room opposite; then, perhaps--no! I should leave this one openafter all, I think." Three seconds had sufficed to close the tripledoors, one more quickly than another, behind them.

  "I should, if I were you," said Scarth. "And I should think a good manytimes before carrying out your other instructions--if I were the lady atthe bottom of one of the few mysteries that still puzzle Scotland Yard."

  There was a pause, in which Dollar heard only a sharp intake of breathon the threshold just behind him; but that was enough.

  "I believe I shall have to shoot you, after all," said he, and thehammer of the mother-of-pearl revolver clicked to full cock.

  "Won't that rather spoil your game?" said Scarth, blandly.

  "Mine is not the game that matters at the moment--yours _is_. As,however, you have been fool enough to have a key cut expressly to fit myfront-door lock, and have been discovered in my room at midnight----"

  "In the most distinguished company! Go on, Dollar. Nothingextenuate--bang the field-piece--twang the lyre!"

  His teeth were showing as they had shown on the platform at Winterwaldnine months before; the tag from his famous impersonation had slippedout with all the snap and gusto which had captivated an unruly audiencethen; and it was not without a slight mesmeric effect on the man who hadhim at his mercy. If Scarth in turn had not held Vera Moyle at _his_mercy, and if John Dollar had not known him to be utterly devoid of thatquality, he could have admired the cool daredevil, swaggering at bay.

  "Remember the concert at Winterwald, doctor," he went on, "and our talkafterward, and the last talk we ever had there? He thought I had twotries to kill a fellow, Lady Vera--two bites at such a green young nut!Better to finish 'em off at one fell blow, isn't it? Not such fun forthe widow, or the poor innocent devil who nearly swings for the job, butgreat work for the militant Millies and their lady leader! Splendid foryou all until the truth comes out--as it will the minute a policemanshows his nose!"

  It was Lady Vera who had obtained him this hearing. She had stepped upto Dollar, had taken his arm, had even put her other hand in front ofher own revolver.

  "Let him go on; we may as well know where we are," she had said in themiddle of Scarth's speech. And now she asked him what he proposed, as ifshe were inquiring the price of a dress, with the civility doubly due toan inferior.

  "You have had my proposal," said Scarth. "It's not the kind that onerepeats before a third party."

  "I may as well ring them up," said Lady Vera, trying to disengage herarm; but Dollar's had closed upon it, and his left hand held hers as ina vise.

  "You shan't!" he ground out. "It's all bluff. They have no evidence."

  "They are welcome to all I can give them," she answered. "I have alwaysregretted I didn't come forward in the beginning. But there was moreexcuse than there is now--then there was no question of letting a worseperson go for the second time."

  But this was not said for the worse person's benefit; for the VeraMoyles it is impossible to speak _at_ the worst person in the world. Thepoint was merely urged as an argument for Dollar's private ear. But theMostyn Scarths are expert listeners; not a syllable was lost upon theconsummate chieftain of that foul family; and he grinned gaily throughas much of the open door as he could see from this point.

  "So you admit that you administered his coup de grace to the latelamented Sergeant Simpkins?"

  But the heavy shaft was not winged by one of Mostyn Scarth's featheredglances. His grinning gaze still sped past them to the landing.

  "I have never denied it in my life."

  "Hear that, Croucher?" cried Scarth. "'Full confession by Lady VeraMoyle--extry spechul.'"

  The pair stood closer as one of them looked round; and there, indeed, onthe threshold, bulked Alfred Croucher, larger than life in a whitebathgown that sat better on him than his loudest clothes. And hisunwholesome face looked only a shade less white than all the rest ofhim, but for the little red sleepless eyes fixed on Mostyn Scarth, whostill enjoyed the crime doctor's undivided attention.

  "'Ow the 'ell did _you_ get 'ere?" said Croucher huskily.

  "I'm obliged to you for asking. Our virtuous friends are so ready totake a felony for granted, that it seems never to have occurred to themthat I walked in at the door--partly to see you--chiefly to bowl themout." Lady Vera could not help smiling at that which seemed never tohave occurred to her; nothing else left any mark, save upon John Dollar,on whom Scarth now trained his ivory grin. "The worst of a Yale lock,doctor," he went on, "is that all the keys are numbered; the wor
st of aTurkish bath is that your enemy may do that thing, and have a look atyour latch-key if you will leave it in your pocket on its chain.Northumberland Avenue may be a good place after a bad night, but that'swhere I really found my way into your house. You didn't see me because Ihad the bad taste to prefer the cave of electricity to the publichot-rooms and your capital company."

  The note of insolence had been forced for Croucher's benefit, thelibretto elaborated to impress that elemental mind, and it was toCroucher that Scarth turned for applause. It might have been morearticulate; there was little merriment in the guttural laugh; and it wasnot in open mockery, if not with any visible respect, that the littlered eyes sought the silent object of these insults.

  Dollar met them for a moment with a sidelong flash; that was as much asthe little red eyes could stand. Scarth glowered, but Mr. Croucher wasnot looking up any more. Between the two strong men, one spittinginsults with his tongue, the other darting questions with his eyes,flabby Croucher found it convenient to study the toes of his bedroomslippers. But his right hand shook deep in the far pocket of thevoluminous bathgown. None of them saw that but Mostyn Scarth, and him itfilled with gleaming confidence.

  "Come, Alfred," said he, "get into your street clothes, if they haven'tbeen taken away from you. If they have, go down as you are and call ataxi. I'm going to take you out of this hole. You look more dead thanalive. I thought you might; that's one reason why I came."

  "Croucher is going to do something for me first," said the crime doctor."_Then_ he can do what he likes."

  "Sorry you haven't got a soul to call your own, Alfred."

  "Who says I haven't?"

  "Doctor Dollar. Didn't you hear him?"

  "If he does, he's a----"

  "Croucher! Croucher!" said the doctor. "All I want you to do is to handme the razor case from the dressing-table. In fact you needn't do allthat; just arm yourself with the weapon you ought to find there. Thensomebody will be more of a match for me. And Mr. Scarth isn't raisingany further objection, you will notice."

  What Croucher noticed, as the red eyes came up at last, was that MostynScarth had suddenly lost a little of his usual healthy tan; but thebedroom slippers remained planted where they were.

  And then without a word Lady Vera stepped from the doctor's side, tookthe razor-case in both her hands, pulled it in two and exhibited theempty halves.

  "Which of you has borrowed my razor?" said John Dollar.

  "Not _me_!" cried Croucher with tremendous emphasis. But his right handwas still in his far pocket, as only Mostyn Scarth could see; and thesight restored a little of that healthy tan which so becomes dark faces.

  "Not you, Croucher?"

  "No, not me, by Gawd!"

  "Yet I believe your original mission in this house was to possessyourself of that razor--and--use it?"

  Dollar did not finish the sentence without feeling for a little handwith his left; that little hand met it half-way, and was the first togive a reassuring squeeze.

  "You were to do something to me with it, I believe, and to leave it inmy hand to show I'd done it myself?"

  And then, under another sidelong flash, that steadied down into awill-destroying gleam, Croucher came out with a dreadful phrase.

  "To guide yer 'and!" said he, hoarsely.

  "To guide my hand! Exactly! But it was not exactly your idea?"

  "No. It was----"

  But here his eyes rolled into Mostyn Scarth's, and dropped once more.

  "Exactly!" repeated Dollar. "But you didn't quite feel like doing it, soat last your master had to come in to do it for you?"

  "He ain't my master now, blast 'im!"

  "Steady, Croucher. May I ask what that is in your hand?"

  It was a letter. Only a letter out of that far pocket, after all!Scarth's eyes started, and he found his tongue once more.

  "You--give--that--to me, Croucher!"

  Croucher wavered at his voice; it was terribly threatening, each subtletone a poisoned barb.

  "What if I don't?"

  "You know what!"

  "The game deepens," said the crime doctor; and he did not know that hisleft hand had dropped the hand of hands for him.

  "_Your_ game's up if you show that letter!" cried Scarth to Croucher,who only showed him the broad of his back.

  "Can you be tried twice for the same thing, doctor?" he began--but inthe same breath he desperately added: "I don't care whether you can oryou can't! You read that, whether or no!"

  The letter was in an envelope superscribed "To THE CORONER," in awonderful imitation of Dollar's handwriting; but the letter itself,written on his own stamped paper, was a still more marvelous forgery, inwhich the crime doctor bade farewell to the world before stultifying hisown life's work by the crime of suicide.

  "That's better than anything you did in Switzerland," said Dollar,nodding to the livid man between the curtains.

  "But it ain't the best thing 'e's done," cried Croucher, and stopped toroll his eyes and gloat. "The bounder's best bit was squeezin' twopeople for the same job--the guilty an' the innercent--'er as thoughtshe must 've done it, an' 'im as knew 'e done it all the time!"

  "That's the end of _you_," said Scarth, with sardonic satisfaction.

  "It's the beginning of us all!" said the crime doctor, in a voice theyhardly knew. "Do you--can you mean yourself and this lady?"

  That lady shook her head and smiled.

  "I do, if I swing to-morrow!" swore Alfred Croucher. "I told'_im_"--with a truculent thrust of the bullet head--"one night in mecups; an' fust 'e starts squeezin' 'er to marry 'im, an' then squeezin'me to do yer in before yer forbids 'is banns! Oh, 'e's a nut, I tellyer--though we've been the nuts an' 'im the cracker!"

  Lady Vera looked like a little ghost, still unable to believe her ears,still staring into space as if the trouble were rather with those greatIrish eyes of hers.

  But the doctor was the doctor an instant longer. His left hand went outto his patient first.

  "You'll sleep to-night! I'll give you the other when it's free," hesaid, still covering the man with his hands in his pockets, the curtainson each side of him, and a back window just behind.

  Then two things happened in quick succession; but the first brought thelover back to life with such a throb that the second was not even seen.

  Just saying, "I'm afraid I'm going to make a fool of myself," all thathe loved on earth collapsed at his feet. The doctor was down on hisknees beside her, getting the girl into his arms. And even Mr. Croucherdid not see the curtains close, or hear anything happen behind them; forhe, too, was on his knees, holding out a dripping sponge, and babblingfaster than the drops pattered on the floor.

  "It's right! I done it ... that pore copper in the fog! She sent 'imreelin'--into me arms--but I done all the rest. Never meant to, mindyer, but that's neither here nor there. Ready to swing, I was, an' don'tcare now if I do! She saved me--little knock-out--an' look 'ow I wentan' tret 'er for it!... Gawd, doctor, wot a fair swine I was!"

  But the crime doctor had even less time to listen to him now; for theeyes of eyes had opened, were gazing up into his; and not one of themhad heard the window raised behind the curtains, or the clanging thudupon the iron steps just underneath.

  THE END

 

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