Читать книгу The Wiles of the Wicked - Le Queux William - Страница 4

“Take me at once to the police-station,” I said firmly. “I must make a statement to your inspector on duty.”

“Not much good, is it, if you can’t tell us where the affair took place?” queried the man, impertinently.

“It is my duty to make the report, and the duty of the police to investigate it,” I answered, annoyed, for it seemed as though he doubted me.

“That’s a nasty cut on your hand,” he remarked. “How did you get it?”

“I cut it myself by accident with the knife.”

“What knife?”

“The knife with which the murders were committed.”

“And what were you doing with it?” inquired the constable, utterly regardless of the strict police regulation which forbids an officer to put any such questions.

“I found it,” I replied.

“Where?”

“On the floor of the room, while I was searching about.”

The man grunted dubiously.

I was well aware of the suspicion which must fall upon me, for I knew there was blood upon my clothes, and that my story possessed a distinct air of improbability.

“Who injured your head like that?” he asked.

In response, I told him how, in crossing a road, I had been knocked down and rendered insensible by a cab, and how, on regaining consciousness, I had found myself under the care of some woman unknown.

He gave vent to a short harsh laugh, as though discrediting my statements.

“You don’t believe me,” I blurted forth hastily. “Take me to your inspector. We must lose no time.”

“Well, you know,” observed the man, “your story, you’ll admit, is a very extraordinary one. You say that a terrible affair has happened in a house somewhere about here, yet you can’t direct us to it. The whole story is so curious that I’m afraid you’ll have a difficulty in persuading anybody to believe you.”

“If you don’t, somebody else will,” I snapped. “Come, take me to the police-station.”

Thus ordered, the man rather reluctantly took my arm, and crossing the wide main road, we traversed a number of short crooked thoroughfares.

“You don’t seem a very good walker, mister,” the constable observed presently. “I see a cab in the distance. Would you like to take it?”

“Yes. Call it,” I said, for I felt very weak and ill after my terrible night’s adventure.

A few minutes later we were sitting together in the hansom, driving towards the address he had given, namely, College Place Police-Station.

On the way I explained to him the whole of the facts as far as I could recollect them. He listened attentively to my curious narrative until I had concluded, then said —

“Well, sir, it’s certainly a most mysterious affair, and the only fear I have is that everybody will look upon it with disbelief. I know what I should do if I were a gentleman in your place.”

“What would you do?”

“Well, I should keep my knowledge to myself, say nothing about it, and leave the revelation of the crime to chance.”

“I am compelled to make a report of it, because I was present at the tragedy,” I said. “It is my duty, in the interests of justice.”

“Of course, that’s all very well, I quite agree that your duty as a citizen is to make a statement to my inspector, but if I may be permitted to say so, my private opinion is, that to preserve a discreet silence is better than making a fool of one’s self.”

“You’re certainly plain-spoken,” I said smiling.

“Oh, well, you’ll excuse me, sir,” the man said, half-apologetically. “I mean no offence, you know. I only tell you how I myself would act. Now, if you could give any real information of value to the detectives, there would be some reason for making the statement, but as you can’t, well you’ll only give yourself no end of bother for nothing.”

“But surely, man, you don’t think that with the knowledge of this terrible affair in my mind I’m going to preserve silence and allow the assassin to escape, do you?”

“Well, it seems that the assassin has escaped already, in any case,” the man laughed. “You take it from me that they were a cute lot in that house, whoever they were. The wonder is that they didn’t kill you.”

An exactly similar thought had crossed my mind. The drive seemed a long one, but at length the cab stopped, and we alighted.

I heard the conveyance turn and go off, as together we ascended the steps of the station. One thing struck me as curious, namely, that the air was filled with a strong odour like turpentine.

“The station is a long way from your beat,” I remarked.

“Yes. A fairish way, but we’re used to it, and don’t notice the distance.”

“And this is College Place – is it?”

“Yes,” he responded, conducting me down a long passage. The length of the corridor surprised me, and I humorously remarked —

“You’re not going to put me in the cells, I hope?”

“Scarcely,” he laughed. “But if we did the darkness wouldn’t trouble you very much, I fear. Blindness must be an awful affliction.”

He had scarcely uttered these words ere we ascended a couple of steps and entered what seemed to be a spacious place, the charge-room of the police-station.

There was the sound of heavy tramping over bare boards, and suddenly a rather gruff voice inquired —

“Well, four-six-eight? What is it?”

“Gentleman, sir – wants to report a tragedy. He’s blind, sir.”

“Bring him a chair,” said the inspector’s voice authoritatively.

My guide drew forward a chair, and I seated myself, saying —

“I believe you are the inspector on duty here?”

“Yes, I am. Will you kindly tell me your name and address?”

I did so, and the scratching of a quill told me that he was about to take down my statement.

“Well?” he inquired at length. “Please go on, for my time is limited. What’s the nature of the affair?”

“I’ve been present to-night in a house where a double murder has been committed,” I said.

“Where?”

“Ah! That’s unfortunately just the mystery which I cannot solve. Being blind, I could obtain no idea of the exterior of the place, and in my excitement I left it without properly marking the house.”

“Tell me the whole of the facts,” observed the officer. “Who are the victims?”

“A woman and a man.”

“Young or old?”

“Both young, as far as I can judge. At any rate, I examined the body of the man and found him to be about twenty-eight.”

“The gentleman has no idea of the street where the tragedy has occurred,” chimed in the constable. “He met me outside the Museum, and the blood on his clothes was still wet.”

“He’s got an injury to the head,” remarked the inspector.

“I was knocked down and rendered insensible by a cab,” I explained. “When I again became conscious I found myself in a strange house.”

“They didn’t rob you?”

I felt in my pockets, but I could not discover that I had lost anything. I remembered that I had only a couple of half-sovereigns and some loose silver upon me, and this remained still in my pocket. My fingers touched the stud and pencil-case, and I hesitated whether to give these up to the police. But next second the thought flashed through my mind that if I did, suspicion might be aroused against me, and further that while I kept them in my possession I should possess a secret clue to the victims of the terrible tragedy.

After I had fully explained the whole circumstances, and the inspector had written down with infinite care each word of my remarkable statement, he said —

“It seems as though both the man and woman fell victims to some plot or other. You say that there were no high words, and that all you heard was a woman’s shriek, and a man’s voice say, ‘Why, you’ve killed her!’ Now, have you any idea of the identity of that man?”

“None whatsoever,” I answered. “My mind is a perfect blank on everything, save the personal appearance of the man who was afterwards struck to the heart.”

“Exactly. But don’t you think that the man who expressed horror at the first crime fell the victim of the second?”

“Ah! I never thought of that!” I said. “Of course, it seems most likely.”

“Certainly. The second crime was committed undoubtedly in order to conceal the first.”

“Then how extraordinary it is that I was spared.”

“There was a motive, I believe, for that. We shall no doubt find that later.”

“You will communicate with Scotland Yard, I suppose,” I remarked.

“Perhaps we shall; perhaps not,” answered the inspector, vaguely. “The affair must, of course, be fully investigated. Have you anything to add? You say that some woman treated you kindly. Have you any idea of her personal appearance?”

“None,” I answered. “The only fact I know was that she was in evening dress, and that upon her wrist was a curious smooth-worn bangle of a kind of fine plaited wire, very pliable, like those worn by African native women.”

“Eh! What – impossible!” gasped the inspector, in a voice which surprised me. But next moment he recovered his self-possession and made a calm remark that this fact did not lead to anything definite. Yet the sudden exclamation of startled surprise which escaped him aroused within me a belief that my words had given him some mysterious clue.

“You have no further statement to make?”

“None,” I responded.

There was a few moments’ silence during which time the quill continued its rapid scratching.

“You will kindly sign your information,” the officer said, whereupon the constable brought me the sheet of foolscap and a pen wherewith I scrawled my name.

“Good,” observed the inspector, with a grunt of satisfaction. “And now I must ask you to excuse me further, Mr – Mr Heaton, and wish you good morning.”

I made my adieu, after obtaining from him a promise to communicate with me if anything transpired, and, accompanied by the constable, made my way out into the long passage again.

I had not walked a dozen paces ere I knew instinctively that some persons were near me, and next instant felt myself seized roughly by both arms and legs.

“What are you doing?” I shouted in alarm; “let me go!”

But only for an instant I struggled. The force used was utterly irresistible, and not a single word was uttered. My arms were in a moment pinioned, rendering me helpless as a child. With my terrible affliction upon me, I could neither defend myself nor could I see my assailants. Whoever the latter were, it was evident that they were determined, and, further, that I had been cleverly entrapped.

My first thought was that I had been arrested, but ere the lapse of a few moments the hideous truth became impressed forcibly upon me.

I tried to fight for life, but my wrists had been seized in grips of steel, and after a few desperate wrenches I stood, bound, and utterly unconscious of where I was.

My real position was, to a certain degree, plain. The man whom I had believed to be a constable was no police-officer at all, but some thief or London ruffian; I, far too confiding, had neglected to take the precaution of feeling his uniform.

A shrewd suspicion overcame me that this trap had been purposely laid for me. The man who had posed as a police inspector had obtained from me a signed declaration of the remarkable occurrence, for what reason I knew not. Did they now intend to silence me for ever? The thought struck a deep and terrible dread within my heart.

To my demands to know where I was, no response was given.

Indistinct whisperings sounded about me, and by the liquid “s’s” of one person I felt convinced that a woman was present.

Little time, however, was I given in which to distinguish my surroundings, for two persons gripped my bound arms and drew me roughly through a narrow door, across an uneven floor, and thence down a long, crooked flight of stone steps.

From below came up a dank, mouldy smell, as of some chamber long unopened, and suddenly there broke upon my quick ears the wash of water.

In that moment of mental agony the truth was rendered plain. I was not in a police-station, as I believed, but in some house beside the Thames, and, moreover, I was descending to the water – going to my death.

Once again, as a last effort, I struggled and fought with the fierce desperation begotten of terror, but in a moment the strong hands that held me pushed me violently forward, and I then felt myself falling helplessly from some dizzy height. My head reeled, and weakened as I already was, all knowledge of things became blotted out.

The touch of a cool, sympathetic hand upon my brow was the first thing I subsequently remembered. My arms had apparently been freed, and with a quick movement I grasped the hand. It was a woman’s.

Was I dreaming?

I stretched forth my left hand to obtain some idea of my surroundings, and found myself lying upon an uneven stone flooring that seemed covered with the evil-smelling slime of the river.

With my right hand I touched a woman’s firm, well-moulded arm, and to my amazement my eager fingers came into contact with a bangle. I felt it.

The hand, the arm, the bangle, the perfume of peau d’Espagne, all were the same as those of the woman who had pitied me in my helplessness, and had so tenderly cared for me in that mysterious, unknown house, wherein the tragedy had afterwards occurred.

At first I lay speechless in wonderment, but when I found tongue I spoke, imploring her to make explanation. I heard her sigh deeply, but to all my inquiries she remained dumb.