Whatsoever a Man Soweth

by William Le Queux

find a placein which to raise myself above the level of the flood?

  My heart stood still. In that moment the recollection of all thesequence of strange and startling events of the past few weeks passed inrapid review before me. My enemies had entrapped me, and I now knewthat I was doomed.

  Eric's shout of defiance, followed by that groan and shriek, still rangin my ears, but, most tantalising of all, I had no idea where the houseto which I had been enticed was situated. It was somewhere off RegentStreet, but further than that I had no knowledge.

  I saw how cleverly the whole affair had been arranged; how the manintroduced to me as Humphreys had met us by appointment in the vestibuleof the Empire, and how, knowing my interest in antiques, the bait hadbeen so cleverly placed.

  I had now no doubt that Ellice Winsloe was an adventurer, therefore myeager desire was to reveal to Scarcliff the astounding truth.

  And yet this was actually the man who had the audacity to proposemarriage to Sybil, and she had contemplated accepting him!

  To old Lady Scarcliff the fellow had posed as a gentleman of means, andhad so ingratiated himself with Jack that the pair had becomeinseparable. The situation was monstrous.

  In sheer desperation I groped forward slowly and carefully, my face tothe black, slimy wall, feeling it forward with my hands. If I stumbledthe force of the torrent would, I knew, take me off my feet and I shouldmost probably meet with an awful death. Cautiously I crept along, howfar I cannot tell. Each moment seemed an hour, and each step a mile,until of a sudden the wall ended!

  Only the black swiftly-flowing flood lay before me. I put out my handin the darkness, but only grasped the air.

  Next moment, however, I discovered that the sewer took a sudden turn,almost at right angles, and that I had come to the corner. Yes. Thewall continued! So I groped on and on, my hands travelling over bricksworn smooth by the action of the cleansing flood.

  I hoped to encounter one of those men whom I had often seen descend fromthe street in high boots and carrying a miner's lamp, but I was, alas!alone. The very absence of the workmen told me the terrible truth. Itwas the time for the automatic flushing!

  On I groped in frantic haste, the rats scuttling from my path, thedarkness complete; the noise of the black waters deafening. Irecollected that as we had driven from the Empire it had commenced torain, and thus was the torrent accounted for.

  Of a sudden, I discerned before me something. What it was I could notdistinguish. I crept on, and saw that it was like a small patch offaint grey. Then, approaching nearer, I found that it was a single rayof faint daylight which, penetrating from far above, fell upon the blackwaters. It was day. I had been in that gruesome place all night.

  My heart leapt within me as I went forward to it, finding that above wasa round, well-like shaft, which led to the surface, while in the wallwere iron footholds.

  I gained the bottom, and grasping the small, rusted iron rails commenceda slow and difficult ascent.

  Not an instant too soon, however, for ere I had placed my foot upon thefirst rung of the ladder a noise like thunder sounded from the tunnel,and the black waters rose angrily to meet me, washing about my legs as Iclimbed higher up, and filling the sewer to its roof.

  For a few moments the water remained at that level, and then the torrentslowly receded to its original height as the flushing wave rushed ontowards the outfall.

  A cold perspiration broke out upon me. I saw how I had been within anace of death, and shuddered as I glanced below.

  Then, ascending as quickly as my shattered nerves and swimming headwould allow, I found above me a closed grating, through which I couldhear the roar of the London traffic above.

  I shouted, but could attract no attention.

  To push up the iron was impossible, for I saw that it was locked.

  A woman passed close by, and I shouted to her. She turned and looked inan opposite direction, surprised to see no one. She never suspectedanyone being beneath the roadway.

  An omnibus rumbled over me, and I saw that it was a green "Bayswater,"from which I concluded that I must be beneath Oxford Street.

  Again and again I shouted for help, but could attract no notice. Myposition was far from secure, compelled to cling on to those ironfootholds in the brickwork.

  At last I saw a newsboy close to me. My shout startled him, but when hediscerned my face beneath the bars he came closer, and asked,--

  "'Alloa, guv'nor! What's up?"

  "I'm a prisoner here," I explained. "Go and fetch a policeman."

  "My gum!" exclaimed the urchin in his surprise. "It's the first timeI've ever 'eard of a bloke gettin' locked down the sewer." And he wentoff at once to call a constable.

  The officer came quickly, and after a brief explanation he sent the ladsomewhere to the house of one of the sewermen, I think, for the key.

  Meanwhile, a small crowd quickly collected around the grating, and I wassubjected to a good deal of good-humoured banter until the man came withthe key, and I once again found myself at the surface, a dirty,dishevelled, pitiable-looking object in evening dress. I was in OxfordStreet, at the corner of Hart Street, Bloomsbury.

  Both constable and sewer-man were curious to know how I got in,whereupon I explained that I had been the victim of a plot in somehouse, of the exact situation of which I was unaware.

  The two men exchanged glances--meaning glances I saw them to be.

  "Was it anywhere near Portland Place?" asked the big fellow in bluejersey and sea-boots.

  "I don't know. I saw Poland Street written up. Why?"

  "Well, because there's something mysterious goes on in a house somewherenear here. Only a month ago we found the body of a young woman drownedin the main sewer at the corner of Charing Cross Road, and the affair isa mystery. The police 'ave kept it out of the papers while they makeinquiries. We're trying to find out what house has direct communicationwith the sewer, but up to the present we've not been successful. It's agood job," he added, "that you weren't caught by the flush, for it mustjust be going down at this time."

  I explained how narrowly I had escaped death, and then in reply to theconstable described the dastardly plot of which I had been the victim.

  "Of course, sir, you won't mind making a full statement at the policestation, will you?" the officer said. "The discovery of the poor womanin the sewer the other day has shown that there is some house in whichpeople mysteriously disappear. It is evidently to that house you wereinvited. You will be able to assist us to identify it."

  I shook my head, saying: "I fear that I'll never be able to recognise itagain, for I really took no notice of its exterior. It lies somewhereeast of Regent Street, that is all I know."

  "Depend upon it that more than one person has been swept down by theflush," declared the sewer-man. "A man's body was found down at theoutfall at Beckton about three months ago. He was in evening dress, andevidently a gentleman, our foreman said, but where he came from was acomplete mystery. My own idea is that the house has no directcommunication with the sewer, for if it had, we should have discoveredit. You say, sir, that you fell through a hole in the stairs?"

  I replied in the affirmative.

  "Exactly. You dropped down into a cellar or somewhere in the basement,and then, while you were insensible, they put you into the sewer--through some manhole, perhaps, of which they have a duplicate key. Thehouse must be near a manhole. That's my belief."

  "Then you don't think that I fell plumb into the sewer?"

  "Certainly not. You were thrown into the sewer while insensible down amanhole, without a doubt. It's lucky you just escaped the flush. Thevillain evidently knew that the flush is at eight o'clock in themorning, and that we don't go down till afterwards. And when we go,well, the victim has, of course, disappeared. By Jove! sir," added thebig muscular man, standing astride in his big, high boots, "you've had anarrow shave, and no mistake."

  I admitted I had. I was forced to repeat my explanation to abrown-bearded,
good-humoured inspector who came up, and who afterwardsgave me his name as Pickering. The officer was most interested,therefore promising to call at the Tottenham Court Road police stationlater I gave him a card and took a hansom back to Bolton Street.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

  AROUSES SUSPICIONS REGARDING SYBIL.

  Ellice Winsloe believed me dead.

  There was no doubt about that. And knowing what I now did, I intendedthat he should remain secure in that belief.

  Domville had not returned, a fact which caused me the gravestapprehensions. I recollected that defiant voice in the night. Had healso fallen a victim?

  Budd called in my doctor, who dressed the wound in my head and carefullybandaged it. He was curious to know the cause, but I merely explainedthat I had sustained a rather bad fall. Perhaps he attributed it to toomuch wine on the previous