by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER VII
A TERRIBLE NIGHT
"Go back!--go back, my precious!" cried Deborah, her first thought beinghow to spare Sylvia the sight.
But the girl, remembering that agonized cry which had awakened her,faint and far away as it sounded, pushed past the servant and ran intothe middle of the shop. The lamp, held high by Deborah over her head,cast a bright circle of light on the floor, and in the middle of thisSylvia saw her father breathing heavily. His hands were bound behind hisback in a painful way, his feet were tightly fastened, and his headseemed to be attached to the floor. At least, when the body (as itseemed from its stillness) suddenly writhed, it rolled to one side, butthe head remained almost motionless. The two women hung back, clutchingeach other's hands, and were almost too horrified to move at the sight."Look! Look!" cried Sylvia, gasping, "the mouth!" Deborah looked andgave a moan. Aaron's mouth was rigidly closed under a glittering jewel.Deborah bent down, still moaning, so great did the horror of the thingparalyse her speech, and saw the lights flash back from many diamonds:she saw bluish gleams and then a red sparkle like the ray of the settingsun. It was the opal serpent brooch, and Aaron's lips were fastenedtogether with the stout pin. On his mouth and across his agonised facein which the one eye gleamed with terrific meaning the jewelled serpentseemed to writhe.
"Oh, poor soul!" cried Deborah, falling on her knees with the lamp stillheld above her head. "Sylvia see--"
The girl gasped again, and impulsively knelt also, trying with nervelessfingers to unfasten the cruel pin which sealed the man's lips. He stilllived, for they heard him breathing and saw the gleaming eye: but evenas they looked the face grew black: the eye opened and closedconvulsively. Deborah set down the lamp and tried to raise the head. Shecould not lift it from the floor. Then the bound feet swung in the airand fell again with a dull thud. The eye remained wide open, staring ina glassy, manner: the breathing had stopped: and the body wasmotionless. "He's dead," said Deborah, leaping to her feet and catchingaway the girl. "Help! Help!"
Her loud voice rang fiercely through the empty shop and echoed round andround. But there came no answering cry. Not a sound could be heard inthe street. On the bare floor was the lamp shining on that dreadfulsight: the body with sealed lips, and the glittering jewel, and leaningagainst the wall were the two women, Deborah staring at her dead master,but with Sylvia's eyes pressed against her bosom so that she might notwitness the horror. And the stillness deepened weirdly every moment.
Sylvia tried to move her head, but Deborah pressed it closer to herbreast. "Don't, my pretty--don't," she whispered harshly.
"I must--I--ah!" the girl freed her head from those kind arms with awrench, and looked at the gruesome sight. She staggered forward a fewsteps, and then fell back. Deborah received her in her arms, and,thankful that Sylvia had fainted, carried her up the stairs to lay theunconscious girl on her own bed. Then she descended rapidly, locked thedoor leading from the shop to the stairs, and again looked at the body.The time she had been away was about seven or eight minutes, and thebody still remained with the one open eye staring meaninglessly at theceiling. Deborah, drawn by fascination like a bird by a serpent, creptforward and touched the head. It moved, and she again tried to lift it.This time she found she could do so. The head she lifted against herbreast, and then laid it down with horror when she found the bosom ofher nightgown was stained with blood. Pulling her wits together, for shefelt that she needed them every one, she examined the head and neck. Toher horror she found round the throat a strong thin copper wire, whichdisappeared through a hole in the floor. Apparently this had been pulledso tightly as to keep the head down and to choke the old man, and socruelly as to cut deeply into the flesh. With a moan of horror Deborahdropped the head and ran to the trap-door in the corner. If anywhere,those who had murdered Aaron Norman were lurking in the cellar. But thetrap-door would not open, and then she remembered that it was closed bya bolt underneath. She could not reach the midnight assassin that way.
"The front door," she gasped, and ran to unbolt it. The bolts wereeasily removed, but the door was also locked, and Aaron usually had thekey deposited nightly in the cellar by Bart. Repugnant as it was for herto approach the dead body, Deborah again went forward and felt in thepockets and loose clothing. The man was completely dressed, even to anovercoat which he wore. But she could not find the key and wondered whatshe was to do. Probably the key had been hung up in the cellar as usual.Necessity being the mother of invention, she remembered that thewindow-glass was fragile, and ran up in the hope of breaking through.But the stout shutters were up, so Deborah found that she was sealed inthe house. Almost in a state of distraction, for by this time her nervehad given way, she unlocked the door to the stairs and ran up threesteps at a time to the sitting-room. Here she opened the window andscrambled out on to the ledge among Sylvia's flower-pots. Just as shewas wondering how she could get down, the measured tread of a policemanwas heard, and by craning her neck Deborah saw him coming leisurelyalong the street, swinging his dark lantern on the windows and doors. Itwas a moonlight night and the street was extraordinarily well lighted asthe moon shone straightly between the houses. Gathering her strength fora last effort, Deborah yelled as only she could yell, and saw thestartled officer spinning round, looking up and down and sideways to seewhere the shrieks came from. "Up--up--oh, look up, you fool!" screamedDeborah. "Murder--oh, murder! Burst in the door, call the police, dratyou! Help!--help!"
By this time she was the centre of a circle of bright light, for thepoliceman had located her, and his lantern was flashing on her whitenightgown as she clung to the window-sill.
"What are you making that noise for?" called up the officer, gruffly.
"Murder, you fool!" screamed Deborah. "Master's murdered. Numberforty-five--the door's locked--break it open. Police!--police!"
Before she finished the sentence the officer blew his whistle shrillyand ran to the door of the shop, against which he placed his shoulder.Deborah climbed in again by the window, and ran down again, but eventhen, in her excitement and horror, she did not forget to lock the doorleading to the stairs, so that Sylvia might not be disturbed. As shedescended she flung a thick shawl over her shoulders, which she hadcaught up when leaving her room, though for the rest she had nothing onbut a nightgown. But the poor woman was too terrified to be troubled byany scruples at the moment, and reached the shop to hear heavy blows onthe door. Between the thuds Deborah could hear footsteps running inwardfrom every quarter. "I ain't got the key!" she shrieked through thekeyhole; "break in the door, drat you! Murder!--murder!"
From the noise she made those without concluded that some terrible crimewas taking place within, and redoubled their efforts. Deborah had justtime to leap back after a final scream when the door fell flat on thefloor, and three policemen sprang into the room with drawn batons andtheir lights flashing like stars. The lamp was still on the floorshedding its heavy yellow light on the corpse. "Master!" gasped Deborah,pointing a shaking finger. "Dead--the--the cellar--the--" and here shemade as to drop. A policeman caught her in his arms, but the woman shookherself free. "I sha'n't faint--no--I sha'n't faint," she gasped, "thecellar--look--look--" She ran forward and raised the head of the deadman. When the officers saw the dangling slack wire disappearing througha hole in the floor they grasped the situation. "The passage outside!"cried Deborah, directing operations; "the trap-door," she ran to it,"fast bolted below, and them murdering people are there."
"How many are there?" asked a policeman, while several officers ranround the back through the side passage.
"Oh, you dratted fool, how should I know!" cried Deborah, fiercely;"there may be one and there may be twenty. Go and catch them--you'repaid for it. Send to number twenty Park Street, Bloomsbury, for Bart."
"Who is Bart?"
"Go and fetch him," cried Deborah, furious at this delay; "number twentyPark Street, Bloomsbury. Oh, what a night this is! I'm a-goin' to seeMiss Sylvia, who has fainted, and small blame," and she made for thelocked do
or. An officer came after her. "Go away," shrieked Deborah,pushing him back. "I've got next to nothink on, and my pretty is ill. Goaway and do your business."
Seeing she was distracted and hardly knew what she was saying, the mandrew back, and Deborah ran up the stairs to Sylvia's room, where shefound the poor girl still unconscious.
Meanwhile, an Inspector had arrived, and one of the policemen wasdetailing all that had occurred from the time Deborah had given thealarm at the window. The Inspector listened quietly to everything, andthen examined the body. "Strangled with a copper wire," he said, lookingup. "Go for a doctor one of you. It goes through the floor," he added,touching the wire which still circled the throat, "and must have beenpulled from below. Examine the cellar."
Even as he spoke, and while one zealous officer ran off for a medicalman, there was a grating sound and the trap-door was thrown open. Apoliceman leaped into the shop and saluted when he saw his superior. Bythis time the gas had been lighted. "We've broken down the back door,sir," said he, "the cellar door--it was locked but not bolted. Nothingin the cellar, everything in order, but that wire," he pointed to themeans used for strangling, "dangled from the ceiling and a cross pieceof wood is bound to the lower end."
"Who does the shop belong to?"
"Aaron Norman," said the policeman whose beat it was; "he's asecond-hand bookseller, a quiet, harmless, timid sort of man."
"Anyone about?"
"No, sir. I passed down Gwynne Street at about a quarter past twelve andall seemed safe. When I come back later--it might have been twentyminutes and more--say twenty-five--I saw the woman who was down hereclinging to a window on the first floor, and shouting murder. I gave thesummons, sir, and we broke open the door."
Inspector Prince laid down the dead man's head and rose to his feet witha nod. "I'll go upstairs and see the woman," he said; "tell me when thedoctor comes."
Upstairs he examined the sitting-room, and lighted the gas therein; thenhe mounted another storey after looking through the kitchen anddining-room. In a bedroom he found an empty bed, but heard someonetalking in a room near at hand. Flinging open the door he heard ashriek, and found himself confronted by Deborah, who had hastily flungon some clothes. "Don't come in," she cried, extending her arm, "for I'mjust getting Miss Sylvia round."
"Nonsense," said the Inspector, and pushing her roughly aside he steppedinto the room. On the bed lay Sylvia, apparently still unconscious, butas the man looked at her she opened her eyes with a long sigh. Deborahput her arms round the girl and began to talk to her in an endearingway. Shortly Sylvia sat up, bewildered. "What is it?" she asked. Thenher eyes fell on the policeman. "Oh, where is my father?"
"He's dead, pretty," said Deborah, fondling her. "Don't take on so."
"Yes--I remember--the body on the floor--the serpent across themouth--oh--oh!" and she fainted again.
"There!" cried Deborah, with bitter triumph, "see what you've done."
"Come--come," said Inspector Prince, though as gently as possible. "Iam in charge of this case. Tell me what has happened."
"If you'd use your blessed eyes you'd see murder has happened," saidMiss Junk, savagely. "Let me attend to my pretty."
Just at this moment a tall young man entered the room. It was thedoctor. "The policemen said you were up here," he said in a pleasantvoice. "I've examined the body, Inspector. The man is quite dead--he hasbeen strangled--and in a cruel manner with that copper wire, which hascut into the throat, to say nothing of this," and the doctor held outthe brooch.
"That, drat it!" cried Deborah, vigorously, "it's the cause of it all, Ido believe, if I died in saying so," and she began to rub Sylvia's handsvigorously.
"Who is this young lady?" asked the doctor; "another patient?"
"And well she may be," said Miss Junk. "Call yourself a doctor, anddon't help me to bring her to."
"Do what you can," said Prince, "and you," he added to Deborah, "comedown with me. I wish to ask you a few questions."
Deborah was no fool and saw that the Inspector was determined to makeher do what he wanted. Besides, Sylvia was in the hands of the doctor,and Deborah felt that he could do more than she, to bring the poor girlto her senses. After a few parting injunctions she left the room andwent downstairs with the Inspector. The police had made no furtherdiscovery.
Prince questioned not only the Gwynne Street policeman, who had givenhis report, but all others who had been in the vicinity. But they couldtell him nothing. No one suspicious had been seen leaving Gwynne Streetnorth or south, so, finding he could learn nothing in this direction,Prince turned his attention to the servant. "Now, then, what do youknow?" he asked. "Don't say anything likely to incriminate yourself."
"Me!" shouted Deborah, bouncing up with a fiery face. "Don't you betaking away my character. Why, I know no more who have done it than ababe unborn, and that's stupid enough, I 'opes, Mr. Policeman. Ho!indeed, and we pays our taxes to be insulted by you, Mr. Policeman." Shewas very aggravating, and many a man would have lost his temper. ButInspector Prince was a quiet and self-controlled officer, and knew howto deal with this violent class of women. He simply waited till Deborahhad exhausted herself, and then gently asked her a few questions.Finding he was reasonable, Deborah became reasonable on her part, andreplied with great intelligence. In a few minutes the Inspector, byhandling her deftly, learned all that had taken place on that terriblenight, from the time Sylvia had started up in bed at the sound of thatfar-distant cry of a soul in agony. "And that, from what Miss Sylviasays," ended Deborah, "was just before the church clock struck the hourof twelve."
"You came down a quarter of an hour later?"
"I did, when Miss Sylvia woke me," said Deborah; "she was frightened outof her seven senses, and couldn't get up at once. Yes--it was abouttwenty minutes after the hour we come down to see--It," and the woman,strong nerved as she was, shuddered.
"Humph," said the Inspector, "the assassin had time to escape."
"Begging your pardon, sir, them, or him, or her, or it as murderedmaster was below in the cellar when we saw the corp--not that it waswhat you'd call a corp then."
"Will you say precisely what you mean?"
Deborah did so, and with such wealth of detail that even the hardenedInspector felt the creeps down his official back. There was somethingterribly merciless about this crime. The man had been bound like asheep for the slaughter; his mouth had been sealed with the brooch sothat he could not cry out, and then in the sight of his child andservant he had been slowly strangled by means of the copper wire whichcommunicated with the cellar. One of the policemen brought up an augerwhich evidently had been used to bore the hole for the wire to passthrough, for the fresh sawdust was still in its whorls. "Who does thisbelong to?" Prince asked Deborah.
"It's Bart's," said Deborah, staring; "he was using it along with othertools to make some deal boxes for master, who was going away. I expectit was found in the cellar in the tool-box, for Bart allays brought itin tidy-like after he'd done his work in the yard, weather being fine,of course," ended Deborah, sniffing.
"Where is this Bart?"
"In bed like a decent man if he's to be my husband, which he is," saidMiss Junk, tartly. "I told one of them idle bobbies to go and fetch himfrom Bloomsbury."
"One has gone," said another policeman. "Bart Tawsey isn't he?"
"Mr. Bartholemew Tawsey, if you please," said the servant, grandly. "Ionly hope he'll be here soon to protect me."
"You're quite safe," said Prince, dryly, whereat there was a smile onthe faces of his underlings, for Deborah in her disordered dress andwith her swollen, flushed, excited face was not comely. "But what aboutthis brooch you say is the cause of it all?"
Deborah dropped with an air of fatigue. "If you kill me I can't talk ofit now," she protested. "The brooch belonged to Mr. Paul Beecot."
"And where is he?"
"In the Charing Cross Hospital if you want to know, and as he's engagedto my pretty you needn't think he done it--so there."
"I am ac
cusing no one," said the Inspector, grimly, "but we must get tothe bottom of this horrible crime."
"Ah, well you may call it that," wailed Deborah, "with that serping onhis poor mouth and him wriggling like an eel to get free. But 'ark,there's my pretty a-calling," and Miss Junk dashed headlong from theshop shouting comfort to Sylvia as she went.
Prince looked at the dead man and at the opal serpent which he held inhis hand. "This at one end of the matter, and that at the other. What isthe connecting link between this brooch and that corpse?"
