Kitabı oku: «Devlin the Barber», sayfa 9
CHAPTER XXI
DEVLIN AND I MAKE A COMPACT
"A sacred and holy pledge," said Devlin, "from me? Is it possible that you ask me to bind myself to you by a pledge that you deem holy and sacred?"
"I know of no other way to secure your assistance," I said, feeling the weight of the sneer.
"If you did, you would adopt it?"
"Assuredly."
"So that, after all, you are to a certain extent in my power."
"As you to a certain extent are in mine."
"A fair retort. Before I point out to you how illogical and inconsistent you are, let me thank you for having converted what promised to be a dull evening into a veritable entertainment. It is a real cause for gratitude in such a house as Lemon's, of whom I have already spoken disparagingly, but of whom I cannot speak disparagingly enough. My dear sir, that person is devoid of colour, his moral and physical qualities are feeble, his intellect may be said to be washed out. It is the bold, the daring, that recommends itself to me, although I admit that there are curious studies to be found among the meanest of mortals. Now, my dear sir, for your inconsistency and your lack of the logical quality. My worthy landlady has conveyed to you an impression of me which, to describe it truthfully, may be designated unearthly. How much farther it goes I will not inquire. Her small capacity has instilled into what, as a compliment, I will call her mind, a belief that I am not exactly human-in point of fact, that if I am not the Evil One himself, I am at least one of his satellites. Common people are inclined to such extravagances. They believe in apparitions, vampires, and supernatural signs, or, to speak more correctly, in signs which they believe to be supernatural. The most ordinary coincidences-and think, my dear sir, that there are myriads of circumstances, of more or less importance, occurring every twenty-four hours in this motley world, and that it is a mathematical certainty that a certain proportion of these myriads should be coeval and should bear some relation to each other-the most ordinary coincidences, I repeat, are outrageously magnified by their imaginations when, say, sickness or death is concerned. A woman wakes up in the night, and in the darkness hears a ticking-tick, tick, tick! She rises in the morning, and hears that her mother-in-law has died during the night. 'Bless my soul!' she exclaims. 'I knew it, I knew it! Last night I woke up all of a tremble'-(which, she did not, but that is a detail) – 'and heard the death-tick!' The story, being told to the neighbours, invests this woman, who is proud of having received a supernatural warning, with supreme importance. She becomes for a time a social star. She relates the story again and again, and each time adds something which her imagination supplies, until, in the end, it is settled that her mother-in-law died at the precise moment she woke up; that she saw the ghost of that person at her bedside, very ghastly and sulphury, in the moonlight-(it is always moonlight on these occasions) – that the ghost whispered in sepulchral tones, 'I am dying, good-bye;' that there was a long wail; and that then she jumped out of bed and screamed, 'My mother-in-law is dead!' This is the story after it has grown. What are the facts? The woman has eaten a heavy supper, and she sleeps not so well as usual; she wakes up in the middle of the night. In the kitchen a mouse creeps on to the dresser, after some crumbs of bread and cheese which are in a plate. The ever-watchful cat-I love cats, especially good mousers-jumps upon the dresser, with the intention of making a meal of the mouse. On the dresser, then, at this precise moment, are the plate containing the crumbs of bread and cheese, the mouse, and the cat. There are other things there, of course, but there is only one other thing connected with the story, and that is a jug half-full of water. The cat, jumping after the mouse, overturns this jug, and the water flows till it reaches the edge of the dresser, whence it drips, drips, drips, upon the floor. This is the tick, tick, tick which the woman up-stairs hears-the death-tick of her mother-in-law! Her mother-in-law is eighty-seven years of age, and has been ill for months; her death is daily expected. She dies on this night, and the story is complete. A dying old woman, eighty-seven years of age, her daughter-in-law who has eaten too much supper, a plate of crumbs, a jug with water in it, a cat, and a mouse. Of these simple materials is a message from the unseen world created, which enthrals the entire neighbourhood. Analyse the miracles handed down from ancient times, some of which are woven into the religious beliefs of the people, and you will find that they are composed of parts as common and vulgar."
I made no attempt to interrupt Devlin in his narration of this commonplace story. He had, when he chose to exercise it, a singularly fascinating manner, and his voice was melodious, and when he paused I felt as if I had been listening to an attractive romance. While he spoke, his fingers were playing with a penholder and a pencil which were on the table; the penholder was long, the pencil was short, and I observed that he had placed one upon the other in the form of a cross.
"I am dull, perhaps," I said, "but I do not see how your story proves me to be illogical and inconsistent."
"I related it," replied Devlin, looking at the cross, "simply to show how willing people are to believe in the supernatural. My worthy landlady believes that I am a supernatural being; her husband believes it; you are inclined to lend a ready ear to it. And yet you tell me that you will be satisfied with a sacred and holy pledge from me, knowing, if you are at all correct in your estimate of me, that such a pledge is of as much weight and value as a soap bubble. How easy for me to give you this pledge! And all the while I may be a direct accessory in the tragedy you have resolved to unriddle."
"I thank you for reminding me," I said. "You shall swear to me that you have had no hand in this most horrible and dastardly murder."
"More inconsistency, more lack of logical perception," he said, and the magnetism in his eyes compelled me to fix my gaze upon the cross on the table. "You ask me to swear, and you will be content with my oath. I render you my obligations for your faith in my veracity. How shall I swear? How shall I deliver myself of the sacred and holy pledge? There are so many forms, so many symbols, of pledging one's mortal heart and immortal soul. The civilised Jew, when he is married to his beloved under the canopy, grinds a wine glass to dust with the heel of his boot, and the guests and relatives, especially the relatives of the bride, lift up their voices in joyful praise, with the conscious self-delusion that this sacred rite insures the faithfulness of the bridegroom to the woman he has wedded. Some burn wax candles-very bad wax often-for the release of souls from purgatory. The Chinaman, called upon for his oath, blows out a candle, twists the neck of a terrified cock, or smashes a saucer. The Christian kisses the New Testament; the Jew kisses the Old. The Christian swears with his hat off; the Jew with his hat on. I could multiply anomalies, all opposed to each other. Which kind of obligation would you prefer from me? A cock or a hen? Produce the sacred symbol, and I am ready. Shall my head be covered or uncovered? As you please. Ah, how strange! With this pencil and penholder my fingers have insensibly formed a cross. Shall I swear upon that, and will it content you? Take your choice, my dear sir, take your choice. Call me Jew, Christian, Pagan, Chinaman-which you please. I am willing to oblige you. Or shall we be sensible. Will you take my simple word for it?"
"I will," I said; "but I must have a hostage."
"Anything, anything, my dear sir. Give it a name."
"Your desk," I said, "which not unlikely contains private writings and confessions."
"It does," he replied, tapping on the desk with his knuckles. "You little dream of the treasures, the strange secrets, herein contained. You would have this as a hostage?"
"I would."
"It shall be yours, on the understanding that if I claim it from you within three months after the mystery of the murder of Lizzie Melladew is cleared up, you will deliver it to me again intact, with its contents unread."
"I promise faithfully," I said.
"I must trouble you," he said; and he suddenly placed his hand upon my forehead, and stood over me. "Yes," he said, resuming his seat, "the promise is faithfully made. You will keep it."
He locked the desk, and pushed it across the table to me, putting the key in his pocket.
"And now, your word of truth and honour," I said.
"Give me your hand. On my truth and honour I pledge myself to you. Moreover, if it will ease your mind of an absurd suspicion, I declare, on my truth and honour, that I have had nothing whatever to do with this murder."
His words carried conviction with them.
"But you will assist me in my search?" I said.
"To the extent of my power. Understand, however, that I do not undertake that your search shall be successful. It does not depend upon me; accident will probably play its part in the matter. There is a clause, moreover, in our agreement to which I require your adhesion. It is, that during your search you will do nothing to fasten publicity upon me, and that, in the event of your succeeding, I shall not be dragged into the case."
"Unless you are required as a witness," I said.
"I shall not be required. I have no evidence to offer which a court of law would accept."
"Who is to be the judge of that?"
"You yourself."
"I agree. You must not regard me as a spy upon your movements when I tell you I shall sleep in this house to-night."
"Not at all. That you are a man of mettle-a man who can form a resolution and carry it out, never mind at what inconvenience to yourself-makes your company agreeable to me. I like you; I accept you as my comrade, for a brief space, in lieu of that miserable groveller Lemon, who has no more strength of nerve than a jelly-fish. Sleep in the house, and welcome. Sleep in this room."
"Where?" I asked, looking around for the accommodation.
"A shake-down on the floor. Our mutual good friend Mrs. Lemon shall bring up a mattress, a pillow, a sheet, and a pair of blankets, and you shall lie snug and warm. I do not offer you my own bed, for I know that, having the instincts of a gentleman, you would not accept it, but I offer you the hospitality of my poor apartment. We will sup together, we will sleep together, in the morning we will breakfast together, and we will go out to business together, you taking the position of poor Lemon, whom, from this moment, I cast off for ever. What say you?"
I debated with myself. It was important that I should not lose sight of Devlin; left to my own resources, I should not know how to proceed; I depended entirely upon him to supply me with a clue. But what could be his reason for proposing that we should go out to business together? Of what use could I be in a barber's shop, and how would my presence there assist me? As, however, he appeared to be dealing frankly and honestly, my best course perhaps would be to do the same. Therefore I put the questions which perplexed me in plain language.
"My dear sir," he replied, "in my place of business, and in no other place, shall we be able to find a starting-point. Do not entail upon me the necessity of saying 'upon my truth and honour' to everything I advance. Have confidence in me, and you will be a thousand pounds the richer, probably two, if the gentleman who made you the offer keeps his word."
I hesitated no longer. I would act frankly and boldly, and for the next twenty-four hours at least would be guided by him.
"I accept your hospitality," I said, "and will do as you wish."
"Good," he said, rubbing his hands; "we may regard the campaign as opened. Woe to the murderer! Justice shall overtake him; he shall hang!" He uttered these words in a tone of malignant satisfaction, and as though the prospect of any man being hanged was thoroughly agreeable to him. "I will prove to you," he continued, "how completely you can trust me. You came here to-day with the intention of returning home and sleeping there. Your absence will alarm your wife. You must write to her."
He placed notepaper and envelopes before me, and took from the mantelshelf a penny stone bottle of ink, then pointed to the pen which formed part of the cross upon the table.
I wrote a line to my wife, informing her that events of great importance had occurred in relation to the murder of Lizzie Melladew, and that, for the purpose of following up the threads of a possible discovery, I intended to sleep out to-night; I desired her in my letter to go and see Mr. Portland and tell him that I was engaged in the task he had intrusted to me, and believed I should soon be in possession of a clue. "Have no anxiety for me," I said; "I am quite safe, and no harm will befall me. The prospect of unravelling this dreadful mystery fills me with joy." She would know what I meant by this; the murderer discovered, we should be comparatively rich. I fastened and addressed my letter.
"It should reach her hands to-night," said Devlin. "How will you send it?"
I stepped to the window, and, looking out, distinguished the figures of George Carton and Mr. Kenneth Dowsett, Mr. Dowsett seemed to be endeavouring, unavailingly, to persuade his ward to come away with him. I could employ no better messenger than George Carton; he should take my letter to my wife. Returning to the centre of the room, my eyes fell upon Devlin's desk. Devlin smiled and nodded; he knew what was passing in my mind.
"I shall send my letter," I said, "by the hands of George Carton, who is still in the square, and I shall send your desk with it."
"Do so," said Devlin.
I opened the envelope, and tearing it into very small pieces flung them out of window. Devlin smiled again.
"So that I should not discover your address," he said.
"That is it," I replied.
"It is likely," he said, "to be not very far from Mr. Melladew, because you and he are friends."
I added a few words to my letter, desiring my wife to put the desk in a place of safety; and then, addressing another envelope, I went down-stairs, bearing both desk and letter.
"I shall be here when you come back," said Devlin. "Even were I protean, I shall not change my shape. My word is given."
On my way to the street-door I encountered Fanny Lemon.
"Well, sir?" she asked anxiously.
"I will speak to you presently," I said, and, opening the street-door, crossed the road to where George Carton and his guardian were standing.
CHAPTER XXII
I SEND DEVLIN'S DESK TO MY WIFE, AND SMOKE A FRAGRANT CIGAR
"This foolish, headstrong lad will be the death of me," said Mr. Dowsett in a fretful tone, "and of himself as well."
"I am neither foolish nor headstrong," retorted the unhappy young man. "I told you he was in there still, and you told me he had left the house."
"I said it for your good," said Mr. Dowsett, "but you will not be ruled."
"No, I will not!" exclaimed George Carton violently; and then said remorsefully, "I beg you to forgive me for speaking so wildly; it is the height of ingratitude after all your goodness to me. But do you not see-for God's sake, do you not see-that you are making things worse instead of better for me by opposing me as you are doing? I will have my way! I will, whether I am right or wrong!"
"My poor boy," said Mr. Dowsett, addressing me, "has got it into his foolish head that you can be of some assistance to him. In heaven's name, how can you be?"
"Mr. Dowsett," I said, and the strange experiences of the last few hours imported, I felt, a solemnity into my voice, "the ends of justice are sometimes reached by roads we cannot see. It may be so in this sad instance."
"There," said George Carton to his guardian, in a tone of melancholy triumph, "did I not tell you?"
Mr. Dowsett shrugged his shoulders impatiently, and said, "I declare that if I did not love my ward with a love as sincere and perfect as any human being ever felt for another, I would wash my hands of this business altogether."
"But why," said Carton, with much affection, "do you torment yourself about it at all?"
"It is you I torment myself about," said Mr. Dowsett, "not the horrible deed. I love you with a father's love, and I cannot leave you in the state you are."
George Carton put his arm around his guardian caressingly. "I am not worth it," he murmured; "I am not worth it; but I cannot act otherwise than I do. Sir" – to me-"I have lingered here in the hope that you might have some news to tell me."
"I have nothing I can communicate to you," I said; "but rest assured that my interest in the discovery of the murderer is scarcely less than yours. I have taken up the search, and I will not rest while there is the shadow of a hope left."
"I knew it, I knew it," said George Carton.
"Knowing it, then," I said, "and receiving the assurance from my lips, will you do me a service, and be guided by my advice?"
"I will, indeed I will," replied Carton.
"It is heartbreaking," said Mr. Dowsett mournfully, turning his head, "to find a stranger's counsel preferred to mine."
"No, no," cried George Carton, "I declare to you, no! But you would have me do nothing, and I cannot obey you. I cannot-I cannot sit idly down, and make no effort in the cause of justice. My dear Lizzie is dead, and I do not care to live. But I will live for one thing-revenge!"
"Be calm," I said, taking the young man's fevered hand, "and listen to me. I wish you to take this letter and desk to my wife, and deliver them to her with your own hands. Will you do so?"
"Yes."
"You must not part with them under any pretext or persuasion until you place them in my wife's possession."
"No one shall touch them till she receives them."
"You must go at once, for she is anxious about me. I intend to sleep here to-night. And when you have done what I ask you, I beg you to go home with your guardian, and have a good night's rest."
He looked discontented at this, but Mr. Dowsett said, "Be persuaded, George, be persuaded!"
"Believe me," I said, speaking very earnestly, "that it will be for the best."
"Very well, sir. I will do as you desire. But" – turning to Mr. Dowsett-"no opiates. If sleep comes to me, it shall come naturally."
"I promise you, George," said Mr. Dowsett; "and now let us go. Thank you, sir, thank you a thousand times, for having prevailed upon my ward to do what is right. Come, George, come."
He was so anxious to get the young man away that he advanced a few steps quickly; thus for two or three moments Carton and I were alone.
"Shall I see you to-morrow, sir," asked Carton.
"In all probability," I replied; "but do not seek me here. I have your address, and will either call upon or write to you."
"Then I am to remain home all day?"
"Yes. By following my instructions you will be rendering me practical assistance."
"Very well, sir. I put all my trust in you."
"Are you coming, George?" cried Mr. Dowsett, looking back.
"Yes, I am ready," said the young man, joining his guardian; and presently they were both out of sight.
I reëntered the house. Fanny Lemon was still in the passage.
"Fanny," I said, "I cannot keep long with you, as I have business up-stairs with Mr. Devlin; but I wish to impress upon you not to speak to a single soul of what has passed between us to-day. Say nothing to anybody about Mr. Lemon being ill, and, above all, do not call in a doctor. Doctors are apt to be inquisitive, and it is of the highest importance that curiosity shall not be aroused in the minds of the neighbours. There is nothing radically wrong with Lemon; he has received a fright, and his nerves are shaken, that is all. Tell him that I have taken his place with Devlin, and that the partnership is at an end. That will relieve his mind. Keep him quiet, and give him nothing to drink but milk or barley water. Lower his system, Fanny, lower his system."
"Don't you think it low enough already, sir?" asked Fanny.
"I do not; he is in a state of dangerous excitement, and everything must be done to soothe and quiet him. But I have no more time to waste. You will do as I have told you?"
"Yes, sir, I'll be careful to. But are you sure he don't want a doctor? Are you sure he won't die?"
"Quite sure; and you can tell him, if you like, that I say it is all right."
"Is it all right, sir?"
"If it isn't, I'm going to try to make it so. I shall sleep here to-night, Fanny."
"And welcome, sir. We haven't a spare bedroom, but I can make you up a bed on the sofa in the parlour."
"I shall not need it. I am going to sleep in Devlin's room, on the floor."
She caught my arm with a cry of alarm. "Has he got hold of you, too, sir? The Lord save us! He's got the lot of us in his claws!"
"Don't be absurd," I said. "I know what I'm about, and Mr. Devlin will find me a match for him. No more questions; do as you are bid. If you have a mattress and some bedclothes to spare, bring them up at once."
"I won't look at him, sir-I won't speak to him! O, how shall I ever forgive myself-how shall I ever forgive myself?"
She threw her apron (which during my absence she had put on over her faded black silk dress) over her head, and swayed to and fro in the passage, moaning and groaning in great distress of mind.
I pulled the apron from her face, and gave her a good shaking by way of corrective. She ceased her moans.
"I have no patience with you, Fanny," I exclaimed. "In heaven's name, what do you want to be forgiven for?"
"For dragging you into this horrible business, sir," she said, with a tendency to relapse, which I immediately checked by another shaking. "That-that devil up-stairs-"
This time I shook her so soundly that she could not get out another word for the chattering of her teeth.
"No more, Fanny," I said roughly, "or you will make me angry. I know what I am about, and if you don't stop instantly and do exactly as I bid you, I'll leave you and your Lemon to your fate. Do you hear?"
The threat terrified her into calmness.
"I'll bring up the bed-things, sir," she said, with bated breath.
"And lose no time," I said, as I mounted the stairs.
"I won't, sir."
Devlin was smoking when I joined him, and not smoking a pipe, but a cigar with a most delicious fragrance.
"Take one," he said, pushing a cigar-case over to me; "you will find them good. I manufactured them while you were away."
I bore good-humouredly with his banter, and I took a cigar from the case, but did not immediately light it.
"Sent your letter?" he inquired curtly.
"Yes."
"And my desk?"
"Yes."
"By Lizzie Melladew's sweetheart?"
"Yes."
"Not by the other?"
"No."
"Do they live together?"
"Yes."
"Do you know where?"
"Yes."
"Capital!" he said, with the air of a man who had been asking important instead of trivial questions. "There is a knock at the door-a frightened, feminine knock. Enter, my dear Mrs. Lemon, enter."
Fanny Lemon came in, smothered with a mattress, sheets, blankets, and pillows, and, without uttering a word, proceeded to make the bed on the floor.
"You have brought plenty of pillows, Fanny," I remarked.
"I thought you'd like to lay high, sir," she whispered.
Devlin broke out into a loud laugh. "Most people do," he said, "while they live. When they die they all lie low-all of them, all of them!"
For a moment I thought that Fanny was going to run away, but a look from me restrained her, and she finished making the bed.
"Do you wish anything else, sir?" she asked, still in a whisper, and keeping her back to Devlin.
"Yes, my charming landlady, yes," replied Devlin, "A large pot of your exquisite tea. Fly!"
"Make it, Fanny, and bring it up," I said.
She flew, and returned with the steaming pot. Surely never was tea so quickly prepared before. The pot, milk, sugar, and two cups and saucers were on a tray, which, without raising her eyes, she placed before me.
"Here, here," cried Devlin, tapping the table. "Before me, my dear creature! I am the host on this occasion."
She slid the tray over to him, and he made a motion as if he were about to place his hand on her.
"If you lay a finger on me," she exclaimed, beating a hasty retreat from the table, "I'll scream the house down!"
"Leave the room," I said sternly; "and call us at seven in the morning."
"We shall be here, my dear creature," added Devlin. "You will find both of us safe and sound, ready to do justice to your excellent cooking. I have a premonition of a fine appetite for breakfast; cook me an extra rasher."
I saw in Fanny's eyes a desire to say a word to me alone. Devlin saw it too.
"Humour her," he said, and quoted a line from a comedy. "What is the use of a friend if you can't make a stranger of him?"
I followed Fanny into the passage.
"You've quite made up your mind, sir?"
"Quite, Fanny."
"Take this, sir," she said, pushing a hard substance into my hands. "If anything happens in the night, spring it."
It was a policeman's rattle.
"I don't know where Lemon got it from," she said, "but we've had it in the house for years."
"Pshaw, Fanny!" I said, forcing the rattle back into her hands. "You are too ridiculous!"
Yet when I was once again face to face with Devlin, with the door locked, I could not help thinking that I was acting a perilous part in putting myself, as it were, into his power. He might kill me while I slept. I determined to keep awake, and to lie down in my clothes.
"Have some tea?" he asked.
"Thank you," I replied. The tea would assist me in my resolve not to sleep.
The teapot being emptied, I lit the cigar Devlin had given me.
"I owe you an explanation," he said, puffing the smoke from his cigar into a series of circles. "I take it as a fact that Lemon is suffering from some kind of prophetic vision in connection with the murder of Lizzie Melladew in Victoria Park on Friday night."
"It is so," I said.
"Part of my explanation lies in the admission that he received that forewarning from me."
"Then you knew it was done," I cried.
"I did not know it. It passed through the mind of a customer whose hair I was dressing. I do not call that knowing a thing. I am something of a thought-reader, my dear sir, and I possess a certain power, under suitable conditions, of conveying my impressions to another person. That is the extent of my explanation. Excuse me for making it so brief."
Never in my life had I smoked a cigar with a fragrance so exquisite. Not only exquisite, but overpowering. It beguiled my senses, and had such an effect upon me that the last twenty or thirty words uttered by Devlin seemed to be spoken at a great distance from me. This sense of distance affected not only his voice, but himself and all surrounding things. He and they seemed to recede into space, as it were, not bounded by the walls of the small apartment in which we were sitting. I had a dim desire to continue the conversation, and to press Devlin to be more explicit, but it died away. Everything floated in a mist around me, and in this state I fell asleep.
