Chapter Twenty One. Storms of Fate.

It will readily be imagined that it was in no amiable state of mind I left the house. Distraction was what I wanted—distraction from thoughts of the sad events which had just transpired, and which threatened to wreck all the hopes of wedded happiness I had founded upon Vera’s supposed love for me. It was a bitter experience of the vanity of human pleasures, and was one more proof of the falsity and hollowness of her whom I had loved more than life itself.

Determined to leave the Dene and rid myself of these remorseful thoughts, I jammed on my hat and rushed from the house.

While walking down the drive the postman passed me, bearing the second delivery of letters. The sight of him recalled to my mind the fact that, in the midst of the morning’s excitement, the usual batch of correspondence had escaped my notice. Turning hastily, I made for the study, where a number of letters were awaiting me.

There was only one communication which possessed for me any interest. It was from my old friend Bob Nugent, and a thrill of pleasure passed through me as I recognised the familiar scrawl—Bob was never a neat writer.

The letter was as follows: “Dear Old Frank,—I am writing in great haste, and at the usual high pressure, to give you the welcome news that Teddy Rivers has turned up after his New Zealand experiences, as fresh as paint. He hasn’t much time to spare; so if you want to have one of the old dinners at the Junior Garrick, my boy, and can tear yourself away from the little wife for a few hours, why—come soon.—Yours ever, Bob Nugent.”

“Tear yourself away from the little wife!” I repeated to myself with a groan. Bob was quite right; Vera had truly charmed me, laying me under the spell of her beauty and the vivacity of her manner—for what! With a savage stamp of my foot I threw the letter upon the fire.

A moment’s reflection convinced me that my best course would be to run up to town and meet my friends. As a matter of fact, the opportunity was just what I needed. It would afford a little excitement to drown the weary hours, and cause the time to pass more quickly.

I decided to go.

My preparations were soon complete, and the afternoon mail saw me being rapidly conveyed to town, after having left an explanatory note for Vera, to the effect that I should in all probability be absent three weeks.

That journey I shall ever remember. The mad noisy whirl of the express train was as nothing compared with the wild tormenting dance of my thoughts as they again and again reverted to the unhappy events of the morning. At one time I blamed my precipitation; at another I bemoaned my weakness in allowing myself to be wheedled into waiting another three weeks. Should I ever live those fearful twenty-one days? Some presentiment seemed to fill my brain, and as the train rushed through the stations one after another, every moment seemed bearing me nearer and nearer to some catastrophe.

With a sense of vast satisfaction, therefore, I alighted from a cab in Adam Street, Strand, the same evening, and found myself standing outside the time-stained old building, with which so much of my past had been associated. As its well-known entrance met my gaze it appeared to be but yesterday when I left that very spot on the morning the first murder was committed in Bedford Place.

Brushing aside these memories—for they threatened to become very dismal—I walked quickly upstairs to the well-remembered smoking-room, and glanced around.

As I did this it occurred to me that I had made a great omission. I had forgotten to inform Bob by telegram that I so promptly accepted his invitation, and consequently he was not awaiting me, nor did I know a single face about me.

Evidently there was no utility in staying there, for it might be hours before my friend put in an appearance. I knew his address, but did not feel in the humour for going to hunt him up; finally I resolved to go to a hotel at once.

On regaining the street I noticed, crouching beside the iron railings, which, however, afforded him very little shelter, a haggard-looking man. His threadbare coat was buttoned tightly across his chest, and a battered silk hat, which had seen better days, was pulled down over his eyes, giving him a peculiar, almost repulsive, appearance. Under the rim of his hat a pair of sharp keen eyes glittered with a baleful yet anxious glare, and these two orbs were the most striking part of the man’s tout ensemble. Something about the fellow’s appearance caused me to regard him with attention.

He did not withdraw his glance as mine rested on him. On the contrary, he seemed to become satisfied of my identity. With earnest gesture he rose and stopped me as I was about to enter the cab.

“Now then; move on!” shouted a harsh voice, as the unknown placed his hand, lean, thin and dirty, upon the sleeve of my ulster. The figure of a constable loomed up suddenly in the flickering gaslight.

“Stay! What is it you want?” I asked, for my heart seemed to tell me he was no ordinary alms-seeker.

He was about to reply, and I could feel his hand upon my arm trembling with eagerness, when the policeman again interposed.

“He’s only a-beggin’ again, sir,” said that worthy. “I often turn him away when he’s bothering the gents—and that’s pretty nigh always,” he added, in a grumbling undertone.

“What’s the matter with him?” I inquired, noting the paleness of the poor fellow’s face. Before I could say another word his hold on my arm had relaxed, and he fell backwards, almost into the arms of the too zealous officer.

Bending beside him, I ordered some brandy to be brought, and in spite of the assurance from my astute friend that “he was not worth the trouble,” I did all I could to restore the inanimate form to consciousness.

“I’ve never seen ’im like this ’ere before, blow me!” observed the cabby, who was lending a little assistance, because, as I supposed, he thought there might be some profit attaching to the operation. My authority was not to be slighted when I was in earnest, which was the case just then.

The unfortunate man presently showed signs of reviving, having been carried into the cloak-room of the club, while I questioned the constable as to who he was and where he lived.

“As for who he is, sir, that’s more than any one knows barrin’ hisself,” and he laughed. “He lives ’ere, or has done so for the last eight or nine months and always seems to be lookin’ out for somebody wot he thinks he’ll know when he sees.”

This appeared rather enigmatical. Why had the stranger sought to detain me? A momentary thought crossed my mind—was Vera concerned in this?

With a new interest I turned to the constable.

“Has he ever stopped any one else and spoken like this?” I asked.

“Bless you, yes,” he replied. “But I never knew him so earnest as this time—hullo, old fellow, how do you feel now?”

A faint flush of colour tinged the careworn face; the stimulant had done its work. How sickening it was, I thought, to hear the affectation of friendliness in this man’s voice, now he thought that because my sympathy had been attracted towards the sufferer there was a chance of gaining a few shillings!

“It’s him—it’s him! I knew I’d find him some day,” cried the prostrate man, raising himself on his arm and pointing eagerly at me, as if awakening from some bad dream. Then, as he saw the interested faces of those who had gathered around, and noted the keen looks with which he was regarded, he scowled darkly, and struggled into a sitting posture. As he noticed me again watching him intently, he started.

“Did you want to speak to me, my poor fellow?” I inquired kindly.

“For mercy’s sake wait a few moments, sir, please. Let me get breath. Send these people away, I—I’m better now. See,” and he rose and walked unsteadily to the door, watching me all the time with a keen scrutiny which made me feel rather uncomfortable.

A moment or two later we were on the pavement outside, where the cab I had ordered still remained.

“We must hurry, or we shall be too late,” he urged. “Follow quickly, sir.”

“Wait a moment,” I said, my prudence for the moment mastering my curiosity. “What do you want with me, and where are you going to take me?” With a searching stare he faced me, but I did not flinch. There was an ominous gleam in his dark eyes scowling fiercely into mine, as he said impetuously,—

“Don’t stand here, wasting precious time in useless questions. You cannot know now what it is I want you for—if you are the right man—and Heaven grant you may be—you shall know all.”

“You are talking nonsense,” I said quietly, and with determination. “What’s at the bottom of all this? Come, tell me quickly; my time is being wasted.”

My watch, as I glanced at it in the gaslight, showed that the hour was about half-past ten, but my earnestness to find the real meaning of this mysterious adventure, coupled with my curiosity, would probably have kept me there for hours.

Soon, however, I became impatient.

My unknown questioner looked at me with a resolute smile. His features, or as much of them as could be seen beneath the shabby hat, were not unhandsome, and the smile became him well.

“You are coming with me to-night and soon,” he said, in the same cool and determined manner I had myself displayed.

This was too much. Without word or sign I sprang into the cab, and as the Jehu touched the animal with his whip, my face was determinedly turned away from my strange acquaintance.

My action was so sudden that at first he seemed disconcerted. The cab had only moved a few yards before, with a sudden bound, he gained the horse’s head.

“Leave go that ’orse!” shouted the cabman with an oath.

For a few seconds there was a scene of confusion. The man still holding the reins, and heedless of the plunging and affrighted animal, approached me. He was evidently exhausted, and could withstand the excitement no longer. His coat had burst asunder, revealing in all its raggedness the soiled shirt underneath, through the holes in which his panting chest was plainly visible.

“One word, sir,” he implored, springing with the wildness of despair upon the front of the hansom. “Just one more word, and then if you won’t come, the consequence will lie upon your own head. Do, do stop!”

Thoroughly alarmed at his vehemence, I again ordered the cabman to pull up. There must, I reflected, be something in this matter, after all.

“Will you tell me, without delay, the reason I’m stopped here; or do you wish me to give you into custody as a beggar?” I sternly asked.

There was a crowd around us. It was a rather unusual spectacle, and the passers-by gave eager attention to it.

“Very well, then, I’ll show you something that will decide you, if you will let the man drive on a little, out of this crush,” he rejoined, diving his hand into his breast-pocket.

Impatiently I told him to jump in, giving the order to drive away, anywhere. After the lapse of a few minutes I turned to the strange being by my side.

He held a piece of torn paper, but what was on it I could not then see. Putting his shaking hand upon my shoulder, and his ashen face with its wild, glaring eyes, close to my own, he hissed, with a kind of vicious pleasure.

“You think me an impostor, eh? Well, look at this, and remember what it has revealed to you before. Then say if I have stopped you without cause. Its author may yet be found!”

His face wore a smile of triumph as he held before my eyes a torn fragment of paper. With an indefinable thrill of excitement, not unmingled with alarm—for his words were ominous—I took it. So dark was it in the vehicle that I held it close to my eyes till we approached the next street-lamp. As we did so, and the light fell across the crumpled and dirty paper, my heart almost stopped beating, and my pulses, for a moment ceased.

There, in all its frightful reality, was the seal!