Kitabı oku: «Devlin the Barber», sayfa 12
"Yes."
"If," I said, speaking slowly and impressively, "the theory I have formed is correct-and I believe it is-the young lady is Mary Melladew, poor Lizzie's sister."
"Good God!" cried Carton. "What makes you think that?"
CHAPTER XXVII
WE TRACK MR. KENNETH DOWSETT TO BOULOGNE
"It would occupy too long a time," I replied, "to make my theory thoroughly comprehensible to you. Besides," I added, glancing at Devlin, "it is a theory strangely born and strangely built up, and, in all likelihood, you would reject the most important parts of it as incredible and impossible. Therefore, we will not waste time in explaining or discussing it. Sufficient for us if we succeed in tracing this dreadful mystery to its roots and in bringing the murderer to justice. If I do not mistake, here comes the man I am waiting for."
It was, indeed. Bill Foster, pioneered by the sharp lad who had engaged to find him.
"Here he is, sir," said the boy, holding out his hand, half-eagerly, half-doubtfully.
"Your name is Foster," I said, addressing the man.
"That's me," said Bill Foster.
"You drove a party from Athelstan Road early this morning?"
"Yes."
I counted fire shillings into the boy's outstretched hand, and he scampered away in great delight.
"There's half-a-sovereign for you," I said to Bill Foster, "if you answer correctly a few questions."
"About the party I drove from Athelstan Road?" he asked.
"My questions will refer to them. You seem to hesitate."
"The fact is," said Bill Foster, "the gentleman gave me a florin over my fare to keep my mouth shut."
"Only a fifth of what I offer you," I said.
"Make it a sovereign," suggested Devlin.
"I've no objection," I said.
"All right," said Bill Foster; "fire away."
"The gentleman bribed you to keep silence respecting his movements?" I asked.
"It must have been for that," replied Bill Foster.
"Proving," I observed, "that he must have had some strong reason for secrecy."
"That's got nothing to do with me," remarked Bill Foster.
"Of course not. What you've got to do is to earn the sovereign. Who engaged you for the job?"
"The gentleman himself. I wasn't out with my trap so early, and some one must have told him where I live. Anyways, he comes at a quarter-past six, and knocks me up, and says there's a good job waiting for me at 28 Athelstan Road, if I'd come at once. I says, 'All right,' and I puts my horse to, and drives there. I got to the house at ten minutes to seven, and I drives the party to the London, Chatham, and Dover."
"How many were in the party?"
"Four. The gentleman, a middle-aged lady, and two young 'uns."
"About what ages were the young ladies?"
"Can't quite say. They wore veils; but I should reckon from eighteen to twenty-two. That's near enough."
"What luggage was there?"
"Two trunks, a small box, and some other little things they took care of themselves."
"You had charge of the two trunks?"
"Yes."
"And of the small box?"
"O, no; the gentleman wouldn't let it out of his hands. I offered to help him with it, but he wouldn't let me touch it."
"That surprised you?"
"Well, yes, because it was uncommon heavy. If it was filled with gold he couldn't have been more careful of it."
"Perhaps it was," I said, turning slightly to Richard Carton.
"It was heavy enough. Why, he could hardly carry it."
"Did either of the ladies appear anxious about it?"
"Yes, the middle-aged one. When I saw them so particular, I said, said I-to myself, you know-I shouldn't mind having that myself."
"When the gentleman told you to drive to the London, Chatham, and Dover station, did he say what train he wished to catch?"
"No, but I found out the train they went by. It was the down train for Ramsgate, 7.31."
"They reached the station some time before it started?"
"Yes, twenty minutes before. After the gentleman took his tickets he came from the platform two or three times and looked at me. 'What are you waiting for?' he asked the last time. 'For a fare,' I answered. 'Look here,' he said, 'if anybody asks you any questions about me, don't answer them. 'Why shouldn't I?' I asked. It was then he pulled out the florin. 'O, very well,' I said; 'it's no business of mine.' But I didn't go away till the train started with them in it."
"Do you know whether they intended to stop in Margate?"
"I should say not. As I drove 'em to the station, I heard the gentleman speak to the middle-aged lady-his wife, I suppose-about the boat for Boulogne."
I gave a start of vexation; Devlin smiled; Carton was following the conversation with great attention.
"Do you know what boat?"
"The Sir Walter Raleigh. The gentleman had one of the bills in his hand, and was looking at it. He said to the lady, 'We shall be in plenty of time.'"
"Do you know at what time the boat starts from Ramsgate for Boulogne?"
"Leaves the harbour at half-past nine, but is generally half an hour late."
I looked at my watch. It was just eleven o'clock.
"Is there any chance," I asked, "of this boat being delayed?"
"Why should it? The weather's fair."
"Is there any other boat starting for Boulogne this morning?"
"None. There's the Sir Walter Raleigh from Ramsgate, and sometimes the India from here; but the India don't go to-day."
"Could we hire a boat from here?"
"You might, but it would be risky, and would cost a lot of money. Then, there's no saying when you would get there. It's a matter of between forty and fifty miles, and the steamers take about five hours getting across; sometimes a little less, generally a little more. There's no depending upon 'em. Look here. You're going to behave to me liberal. You want to follow the party I drove from Athelstan Road this morning."
"Show me the way to get to Boulogne to-day," I said, "and I'll give you another half-sovereign."
"Practical creature!" murmured Devlin. "In human dealings there is but one true touchstone."
"Spoke like a real gentleman," said Bill Foster to me. "What time is it?"
"Five minutes past eleven."
"Wait here; I sha'n't be gone but a few minutes. Get everything ready to start directly I come back."
His trap was standing at the corner of Royal Crescent. He ran out, jumped on the box, and was gone. I called to the waiter, and in three minutes the hotel bill was paid, and we were ready.
During Bill Foster's absence I said to Carton,
"Do you make anything of all this?"
"It looks," replied Carton, "as if my guardian was running away."
"To my mind there's not a doubt of it. Have you any idea what that little box he would not let out of his charge contains?"
"The two thousand sovereigns he obtained from the bank," said Carton, in a tone of inquiry.
"Exactly. I tell you now plainly that I am positive Mr. Kenneth Dowsett is implicated in the murder of your poor girl."
Carton set his teeth in great agitation. "If he is! if he is!" he said; but he could say no more.
Bill Foster was back.
"There's a train to Folkestone," he cried, "the South-Eastern line, at 11.47. You can catch it easily. If there's no boat handy from Folkestone to Boulogne, you'll be able to hire one there. The steamers take two hours going across. You can get there in four. Train arrives at Folkestone at 1.27. By six o'clock you can be in Boulogne. Jump into my trap, gentlemen."
We jumped in, and were driven to the station. His information was correct. I gave him thirty shillings, and he departed in high glee. Then we took tickets for Folkestone, and arrived there at a quarter to two.
There was no steamer going, but with little difficulty we arranged to get across. The passage took longer than four hours-it took six. At nine o'clock at night we were in Boulogne.
I cannot speak an intelligible sentence in French. Carton was too agitated to take the direction of affairs.
"Do you know where we can stop?" I asked of Devlin. "Have you ever been here before?"
"My dear sir," said Devlin, "I have travelled all over the world, and I know Boulogne by heart. There's a little out-of-the-way hotel, the Hôtel de Poilly, in Rue de l'Amiral Bruix, that will suit us as though it were built for us."
"Let us get there at once," I said.
He called a fly, and in a very short time we entered the courtyard of the Hotel de Poilly. There we made arrangements with the jolly, comfortable-looking landlady, and then I looked at Carton, and he looked at me. The helplessness of our situation struck us both forcibly.
"Who is in command?" asked Devlin suddenly.
"You," I replied, as by an inspiration.
"Good," said Devlin. "I accept the office. From this moment you are under my orders. Remain you here; I go to reconnoitre."
"You will return?" I said.
"My dear sir," said Devlin airily, "it is too late now to doubt my integrity. I will return."
"For God's sake," said Carton, when Devlin was gone, "who is this man who seems to divine everything, to know everything, and whom nothing disturbs? Sometimes when he looks at me I feel that he is exercising over me a terrible fascination."
"I cannot answer you," I said. "Be satisfied with the knowledge that it is through him we have so far succeeded, and that, in my belief, it will be through him that the murderer will be tracked down. The world is full of mysteries, and that man is not the least of them."
It wanted an hour to midnight when Devlin returned. In his inscrutable face I read no sign of success or failure; but the first words he spoke afforded me infinite relief.
"I have seen him," he said. "Let us go out and talk. Walls have ears."
The river Liane was but a short distance from the hotel, and we strolled along the bank in silence, Devlin, contrary to my expectation, not uttering a word for many minutes. He had lit a cigar, and Carton had accepted one from him; I refused to smoke, having too vivid a remembrance of the cigar I had smoked in Fanny Lemon's house, and its effect upon me. At length Devlin said to Carton:
"You appear sleepy."
"I am," said the young man.
"You had best go to bed," said Devlin; "nothing can be done to-night."
Carton, assenting, would have returned to the hotel alone, saying he could find the way, but I insisted that we should accompany him thither. I had heard that Boulogne was not the safest place in the world for strangers on a dark night. Having seen Carton to his room, we returned to the river's bank. Had Carton been in possession of his full senses he would doubtless have objected, but he was dead asleep when he entered his bedroom, Devlin's cigar having affected him as the one I smoked had affected me.
"He encumbers us," said Devlin, looking out upon the dark river. "I have discovered where Mr. Dowsett is lodging, and were our young friend informed of the address he might rush there, and spoil all. We happen to be in luck, if you believe in such a quality as luck. I do not; but I use the term out of compliment to you. Mr. Dowsett's quarters are in the locality of the Rue de la Paix, and, singularly enough, are situated over a barber's shop. Things go in runs, do they not? Nothing but barbers. I do not return with you to the hotel to-night."
"What do you mean?" I asked, startled by this information.
"The proprietor of the barber's shop over which Mr. Kenneth Dowsett is sleeping-but, perhaps, not sleeping, for a sword is hanging above his head, and he may be gazing at the phantom in terror-say, then, over which he is lying, is an agreeable person. I have struck up an acquaintance with him, and, by arrangement, shall be in his saloon to-morrow, to attend to any persons who may present themselves. Mr. Dowsett will probably need the razor and the brush. I can easily account for my appearance in Boulogne; I have come to see my friend and brother. Mr. Dowsett, unsuspecting-for what connection can he trace between me and Lizzie Melladew? – will place himself in my hands. He has told me that there is not my equal; he may find that it is so. In order that I may not miss him I go to the house to-night. Early in the morning come you, alone, to the Rue de la Paix. You can ride to the foot of the hill, there alight, and on the right-hand side, a third of the way up, you will see my new friend's establishment. I will find you a snug corner from which you may observe and hear, yourself unseen, all that passes. Are you satisfied now that I am keeping faith with you?"
"Indeed, you are proving it," I replied.
"Give me no more credit than I deserve," said Devlin. "It is simply that I keep a promise. In the fulfilment of this promise-both in the spirit and to the letter, my dear sir-I may to-morrow unfold to you a wonder. It is my purpose to compel the man we have pursued to himself reveal all that he knows of Lizzie Melladew. Perhaps it will be as well for you to take down in writing what passes between us. Accept it from me that there are unseen forces and unseen powers in this world, so rich in sin, of which few men dream. See those shadows moving on the water-are they not like living spirits? The dark river itself, had it a tongue, could appal you. On such nights as this are secret crimes committed by devils who bear the shape of men. What kind of being is that who smiles in your face, who presses your hand, who speaks pleasant words to you, and harbours all the while in what is called his heart a fell design towards the execution of which he moves without one spark of compassion? I don't complain of him, my dear sir; on the contrary" – and here, although I could not see Devlin's face, I could fancy a sinister smile overspreading it-"I rather delight in him. It proves him to be what he is-and he is but a type of innumerable others. Your innocent ones are arrogant in the vaunting of their goodness; your ambitious ones glory in their successes which bring ruin to their brethren; your kings and emperors appropriate Providence, and do not even pay him a shilling for the conscription. A grand world, and grandly peopled! The man who glories in sin compels my admiration; but this one whom we are hunting is a coward and a sneak. He shall meet his doom!"
As he ceased speaking he vanished; I can find no other word to express the effect his sudden disappearance had upon me. Whether he intended to create a dramatic surprise I cannot say, but, certainly, he was no longer by my side. With some difficulty I found my way alone back to the Hotel de Poilly, where Carton was fast asleep.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE TRANCE AND THE REVELATION
Of all the strange experiences I have narrated in connection with Devlin, that which awaited me on the following morning was the most startling and inexplicable. Prevailing with difficulty upon Richard Carton to remain at the hotel until I either came to or sent for him, I drove to the foot of the Rue de la Paix, as I was instructed to do. I took the precaution to hire the driver of the fly by the hour, and desired him to stop where I alighted until I needed him. I was impelled to this course by a feeling that I might possibly require some person to take a message to Carton or bring him to the Rue de la Paix. I found the barber's shop easily, and could scarcely refrain from uttering a loud exclamation at the sight of Mr. Kenneth Dowsett sitting in a barber's chair, and Devlin standing over him, leisurely at work. Devlin, with his finger at his lips, pointed to a table in a corner of the shop, at which I seated myself in obedience to the silent command. On the table were writing materials and paper, and on a sheet of this paper was written: "You are late. I have thrown Mr. Dowsett into a trance. He will reveal all he knows. I will compel him to do so. Take down in writing what transpires."
My heart throbbed violently as I prepared myself for the task.
Devlin: "Do you know where you are?"
Mr. Dowsett: "Yes, in Boulogne."
Devlin: "Where were you yesterday?"
Mr. Dowsett: "In Margate."
Devlin: "Where were you on Friday last?"
Mr. Dowsett: "At home, in London."
Devlin: "Recall the occurrences of that day?"
Mr. Dowsett: "I do so."
Devlin: "At what hour did you rise?"
Mr. Dowsett: "At nine o'clock."
Devlin: "Who were present at the breakfast-table?"
Mr. Dowsett: "My wife and daughter, and Richard Carton."
Devlin: "Was anything relating to the engagement of Richard Carton and Lizzie Melladew said at the breakfast-table?"
Mr. Dowsett: "Nothing."
Devlin: "Was there anything in your mind in relation to it?"
Mr. Dowsett: "Yes. I had a plan to carry out, and was thinking of it."
Devlin: "In what way did you put the plan into execution?"
Mr. Dowsett: "When breakfast was over, I went to my private room and locked the door. Then I sat down and wrote a letter."
Devlin: "To whom?"
Mr. Dowsett: "To Lizzie Melladew."
Devlin: "What did you write?"
Mr. Dowsett: "A heart-broken woman implores you to meet her to-night at eleven o'clock in Victoria Park, and, so that she may recognise you, begs you to wear a bunch of white daisies in your belt. She will wear the same, so that you may recognise her. The life and welfare of Mr. Richard Carton hangs upon this meeting. If you fail, a dreadful fate awaits him, which you can avert. As you value his happiness and your own, come."
Devlin: "What did you do with the letter?"
Mr. Dowsett: "I addressed it to Miss Lizzie Melladew, at her place of business in Baker Street, and posted it at the Charing Cross Post-office."
Devlin: "How did you know she worked there?"
Mr. Dowsett: "I learnt it from my ward, Richard Carton."
Devlin: "Did you disguise your handwriting?"
Mr. Dowsett: "Yes; I wrote it in a feminine hand."
Devlin: "What was your object in writing the letter?"
Mr. Dowsett: "I was determined that Richard Carton should not marry Lizzie Melladew."
Devlin: "Why?"
Mr. Dowsett: "I had all along arranged that he should marry my daughter Letitia."
Devlin: "How did you propose to break off the match between your ward and Lizzie Melladew?"
Mr. Dowsett: "My plans were not entirely clear to myself. I intended to appeal to the young woman, and to invent some disreputable story to make her suspect that he was false to her. If that failed, then-"
Devlin: "Proceed. Then?"
Mr. Dowsett: "I was resolved to go any lengths, to do anything to prevent the marriage."
Devlin: "Even murder."
Mr. Dowsett: "I did not think of that-I would not think of it."
Devlin: "But you did think of it. You could not banish that idea from your mind?"
Mr. Dowsett: "I could not, though I tried. It crept in the whole of the day. I could not help seeing the scene. Night-the park-the young woman with the bunch of white daisies in her belt stained with blood."
Devlin: "Those pictures were in your mind, and you could not banish them?"
Mr. Dowsett: "I could not."
Devlin: "There were other reasons for preventing the marriage than your wish that Richard Carton should marry your daughter?"
Mr. Dowsett: "There were."
Devlin: "What were they?"
Mr. Dowsett: "If he married Lizzie Melladew, I should no longer enjoy the income I had received for so many years. I looked upon it as mine. I could not live without it. We should have been beggared-disgraced as well. I had forged my ward's name to bills, and if he married out of my family there would have been exposure, and I might have found myself in a felon's dock. If he married my daughter this would not occur. I was safe so long as I could keep my hold upon him."
Devlin: "Did your wife and daughter know this?"
Mr. Dowsett: "My daughter knew nothing of it. My wife suspected it."
Devlin: "Did she know that you contemplated murder?"
Mr. Dowsett: "She did not."
Devlin: "Why did you give Richard Carton a sleeping draught on that night?"
Mr. Dowsett: "In order that he might sleep soundly, and not discover that I left the house late."
Devlin: "Were your wife and daughter asleep when you left your house?"
Mr. Dowsett: "They were abed. I do not know whether they were asleep."
Devlin: "You took a knife with you?"
Mr. Dowsett: "I did."
Devlin: "Where did you obtain it?"
Mr. Dowsett: "It was a large clasp knife I had had for years. I found it in a private drawer."
Devlin: "You went to the private drawer for the purpose of finding it?"
Mr. Dowsett: "I did."
Devlin: "Did any one see you leave the house?"
Mr. Dowsett: "No one."
Devlin: "Did you walk or ride to Victoria Park?"
Mr. Dowsett: "I walked."
Devlin: "To avoid suspicion?"
Mr. Dowsett: "Yes."
Devlin: "When you arrived at the Park did you have any difficulty in finding Miss Melladew?"
Mr. Dowsett: "I soon found her."
Devlin: "What did you do then?"
Mr. Dowsett: "I made an appeal to her."
Devlin: "Did she listen to you quietly?"
Mr. Dowsett: "No. She taunted me with having tricked her by writing an anonymous letter in a disguised hand."
Devlin: "Go on."
Mr. Dowsett: "I told her it was the only way I could obtain a private interview with her. I invented a scandalous story about my ward. She said she did not believe it, and that she would expose me to him. She told me that I was infamous, and that it was her belief I had been systematically practising deceit upon my ward, and that she would not be surprised to discover that I had been robbing him. 'To-morrow he shall see you in your true colours,' she said. I was maddened. If she carried out her intention I knew that I was a ruined and disgraced man. 'That to-morrow will never come!' I cried. The knife was in my hand. I scarcely know how it came there, and do not remember opening the blade. 'That to-morrow will come!' she retorted. 'It shall not!' I cried; and I stabbed her to the heart. She uttered but one cry, and fell down dead."
Devlin: "What did you do after that?"
Mr. Dowsett: "I hastened away, taking the knife with me. I chose the darkest paths. Suddenly I came upon a young woman sitting upon a bench, reclining against the back. I saw her face, and was rooted to the spot in sudden fear. She did not stir. Recovering, I crept softly towards her, and found that she was asleep. Leaving her there, I hastened back to the woman I had stabbed. I knelt down and looked closely at her. I felt in her pockets; she was quite dead. There were letters in her pockets which I examined, and then-and then-"
Devlin: "And then?"
Mr. Dowsett: "I discovered that the woman I had killed was not Lizzie Melladew!"
