Читать книгу The Strange Boarders of Palace Crescent - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 9

Table of Contents

At a few minutes after midnight the deep repose brooding over the interior of Palace Crescent Boarding House was broken by the sound of the first returning latchkey, followed by footsteps in the hall. The curtains leading into the lounge were pushed back and Roger Ferrison, leaning forward, turned on one of the electric lights. By his side was Audrey Packe. Mindful of his duty, he stepped into the alcove and hung up his key. In the act of turning away, he paused and whistled softly.

“Why, I thought this was such an early place!” he exclaimed. “Past twelve o’clock and five keys still out.”

Audrey peered over his shoulder.

“That seems queer,” she remarked.

“I say,” he whispered, with the air of a happy conspirator, “let’s sit in the recess over there and talk for a few minutes. They won’t see us when they do come in. We were all squashed up in that cinema and I’ve not really had you to myself yet.”

She indulged in a reckless little laugh.

“Mrs. Dewar is a terrible stickler for the proprieties and I’m sure she wouldn’t like it, but let’s stay for a time, all the same,” she assented.

He turned out the light and they made their way to the recess which he had pointed out. Their whispered conversation, animated enough at first, soon became subject to long pauses. One of these was interrupted some time later by another latchkey turned in the lock and the swift opening and closing of the front door. Whoever this newcomer was, he had evidently made up his mind to disturb nobody, for his footsteps were almost inaudible, even to the unseen listeners in the lounge. They were conscious of the curtains being noiselessly drawn apart, but the indistinguishable figure would have nothing to do with the switch. He moved to the alcove in which the latchkeys were hung and paused there for a moment or two. Suddenly a ray of brilliant light, evidently from an electric torch, flashed down the line of hooks, as though taking note of the absent keys. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it was extinguished. They heard the faint sound of receding footsteps, after which the person who had entered the house and inspected the alcove opened and closed the door with meticulous care and took his leave. The tension in the lounge was at an end. Audrey drew a sharp little breath of relief. Her companion whistled softly.

“Now I wonder who the mischief that was,” he whispered. “Why should he come in like a ghost, use his electric torch to see who was in and who was not, and then, instead of going to his room, leave the house again?”

“I can’t imagine who it was or why he went out again,” Audrey answered, “but I think, don’t you, that we ought to go upstairs now?”

But the spirit of adventure was in Roger Ferrison’s veins.

“Let’s stop a few more minutes,” he pleaded. “As a matter of fact I think we ought to. There was something distinctly queer about that visitation, whoever the person might have been.”

“I’m much too contented to argue,” she murmured, leaning back once more in her place.

One o’clock struck—half-past—before there was the sound of another latchkey. Seated breathlessly in their corner, neither Audrey nor her companion—although their eyes by now were accustomed to the darkness—were able to recognise the indefinable shape of the owner of the rather heavy footsteps who crossed the few yards of the lounge, disappeared for a moment into the alcove and then stepped back into the hall. They sat with bated breath until the late comer had made his way up the stairs.

“I think that was Mr. Bernascon,” Audrey whispered.

“Might have been.”

“I can’t make out,” she went on, “why neither the first man who had the electric torch nor Mr. Bernascon, if it was he, didn’t turn on the light just for a moment to see their way to the alcove.”

“Seems queer,” Roger assented. “I hadn’t an idea, either, that any one stayed out so late. They all talk as though they went to bed about half-past ten.”

Audrey rose reluctantly to her feet but a firm hand kept her in her place. Again there was the sound of a latchkey, again an entrance and again the late comer ignored the electric switch. This time, however, the footsteps were unhurried and deliberate. There seemed to be no attempt at secrecy. The faint rattle of a key being returned to its hook indicated that the duty of the house had been done. Nothing else.

“I should be inclined to swear,” Ferrison whispered, “that this last fellow, whoever he may have been, was wearing rubber shoes. We shall have to see this out now, Audrey.”

“I don’t mind,” she consented softly.

Five minutes—perhaps ten. The two young people were far too engrossed to have any but a dazed idea of the passage of time. On this occasion it was obvious that the latchkey was turned with deliberate care to avoid sound so far as possible. The door was closed in the same fashion and along the passage came the creaking sound of a man walking on tiptoe in patent shoes. Some instinct must have led Roger to draw his companion right back into the hidden portion of their recess for, this time, the returned wanderer did not follow the example of his predecessors. He paused at the open entrance to the lounge and they heard him breathing fast, as though he had been running. Then, suddenly, the lounge itself was illuminated. The newcomer stood on the threshold with his finger on the switch, listening.

“Mr. Padgham,” Audrey whispered under her breath.

Roger dared do no more than nod. There was something about Mr. Padgham’s appearance which made him think it would be just as well to remain in their place of concealment. The latter stood quite still as though with the object of recovering his breath. Then he moved towards the tray, gripped the bottle bearing his name, poured out a generous portion of its contents and, ignoring the soda water, drank it off, setting down the glass with cautious fingers. Once more he listened and this time, although he had drunk copiously and set down the nearly empty glass with a gulp of satisfaction, it was more than ever obvious that for some reason or other he was seriously disturbed. He was always of pallid complexion but now he was as pale as death. Back in their hollow depths his eyes glittered with the uneasy light of fear. He stood motionless for a few more seconds, although, to the relief of Roger and his companion, his attention seemed entirely concentrated upon the back part of the house and the stairs. Finally, with careful fingers, he too hung up his key and disappeared. They listened to the creak of his patent shoes upon the carpeted way, they heard the door of his bedroom on the first floor softly opened and closed. Mr. Padgham had come and passed on....

“Roger,” Audrey whispered.

“What is it, dear?”

“I’m terrified. I have never seen or heard all these people behave like this before.”

“Perhaps you have not been up so late.”

“That’s quite true,” she admitted. “It doesn’t make it any less strange, though, to think that it may have been going on all the time. We must say good night now. If we stay much longer, I shall be afraid to go to bed.”

He rose reluctantly to his feet, then suddenly gripped her shoulder once more. For the moment she heard nothing. She looked at him enquiringly. There was no softly turning latchkey to attract their attention, no footsteps in the hall. Yet there was something—something which seemed to be coming from beyond the alcove, beyond the back of the staircase, along the tortuous passage led to the back quarters. It was like the soft shuffle of a slippered foot, lighter than the foot of any human being. Roger was completely puzzled. It was the girl who first guessed the truth.

“Mrs. Dewar,” she whispered. “That’s just the pace she walks.”

“Where is she?” he asked, bewildered.

“Coming along the passage from her room. She sleeps just behind the bureau.”

He listened. Two o’clock!

“What on earth can she be doing down here?”

They heard the soft swinging of the green baize door. The sound of the footsteps became more apparent. They ceased. Dimly they could see the shape of some one standing in the alcove. There was the flash of a torch, which sent them swiftly back into the corner of the recess. It was never once turned their way, however. It swept the line of hooks from which the keys were hanging, slowly and deliberately. Almost at once it was extinguished.

“I cannot bear this,” the girl faltered. “I’m going to own up to Mrs. Dewar about having been here and ask what it’s all about.”

He laid his fingers softly upon her lips.

“I shouldn’t,” he begged. “If she thinks we are spying, we might get turned out. Listen. She’s going.”

They caught an impression of her dim shape moving away. The sound of her footsteps grew fainter. Once more the door swung. Then Roger, with a warning gesture to Audrey, turned on the light. They both leaned towards the alcove. There were still two keys missing from their places, still two empty hooks.

They mounted the stairs slowly, arm in arm.

“If there’s one profession,” Roger Ferrison confided in a low tone, “which appeals to me more at the present moment than the job of selling household cleaners, it is that of a detective. What on earth can it mean—all these men coming in on tiptoe at this hour of the morning—nearly all of them groping about the place as though they were afraid of turning on the light and only Mr. Padgham going near the whisky bottle?”

“And he seemed scared to death,” Audrey reflected. “I have never seen him without his swagger before.”

“Every one of them coming in separately too,” he went on. “There didn’t seem to be any connection between them and there doesn’t seem to be if you see them in the daytime. And yet these respectable stodgy boarders in a respectable stodgy boarding house are out until nearly two o’clock in the morning, each one comes in separately, and only one of them has the courage to turn on the light and gulp down a drink. You have been here much longer than I have, Audrey. Have you ever noticed anything queer about the place before?”

“Not a thing,” she assured him. “I have stayed in several other boarding houses and I thought that this was the dullest and quietest I had ever known.”

They paused at her door for a last good night. When they parted, their minds had become a blank. They were caught up in the vortex of a personal passion. They were intrigued no longer by the strange boarders of Palace Crescent.