CHAPTER ELEVEN
WHAT THE POLICE KNEW
As I pushed my way through the tangle of weeds and undergrowth, Jackfollowed closely at my heels.
The dark figure leapt away in an instant, and dashed round the cornerby the ruined conservatory, but I was too quick for him. I caught himup when he gained the front of the house, and there, in the light ofthe street-lamp, my eyes fell upon a strange-looking object.
He proved to be a ragged, hunchbacked youth, so deformed as to beextremely ugly, both in face and figure. His hair, long and lank, hungabout his shoulders, while his dark eyes stood out in terror when Iordered him to halt, and covered him with my shining weapon.
His was the most weird figure that I had seen for many a day. I judgedhim to be about eighteen or nineteen, though he looked older. His legswere short, his head seemed far too big for his crooked body, whilehis arms were long and ape-like, and his fingers thin, like talons.
"Now then, what are you doing here?" I demanded in a firm, commandingvoice.
But he only quivered, and crouched against the wall like a whippeddog.
"Speak!" I said. "Who are you?"
He gave vent to a loud, harsh laugh, almost a screech, and thengrinned horribly in my face.
"Who are you?" I repeated. "Where do you live?"
But though his mouth moved, as though he replied, no sound escapedhim.
I spoke again, but he only laughed wildly, his thin fingers twitching.
"Ho! ho! ho!" he ejaculated, pointing back to the neglected garden.
"I wonder what he means!" exclaimed Jack.
"Why, I believe he's an idiot!" I remarked.
"He has every appearance of one," declared my companion, who thenaddressed him, with the same negative result.
Again the weird, repulsive youth pointed back to the garden, and,laughing hideously, uttered some words in gibberish which were quiteunintelligible.
"If we remain here chattering, the constable will find us," Iremarked, so we all three went forth into the street, the uglyhunchback walking at my side, quite tractable and quiet.
Presently, unable to gather a single intelligible sentence from him,Jack and I resolved to leave him, and afterwards follow him andascertain where he lived.
Why had he pointed to the garden and laughed so hilariously? Had hewitnessed any of those nocturnal preparations--or interments?
At last, at the corner of Bishop's Road, we wished him farewell andturned away. Then, at a respectable distance, we drew into a gatewayto watch. He remained standing where we had left him for some tenminutes or so, until a constable slowly approached, and, halting,began to chat to him.
Apparently he was a well-known figure, for we could hear the policemanspeaking, and could distinguish the poor fellow laughing that queer,harsh, discordant laugh--the laugh of the idiot.
Presently the constable moved forward again, whereupon I said--
"I'll get on and have a chat with the policeman, Jack. You follow thehunchback if he moves away."
"Right-ho," replied my friend, while I sped off, crossing the road andmaking a detour until I met the constable.
Having wished him good-night, I inquired the identity of the deformedyouth.
"Oh, sir," he laughed, "that's Mad 'Arry. 'E's quite 'armless. 'E'sout most nights, but we never see 'im in the day, poor chap. I'veknown 'im ever since he was about nine."
"Does no work, I suppose?"
"None. 'Ow can 'e? 'E's as mad as a hatter, as the sayin' goes,"replied the constable, his thumbs hitched in his belt as he stood.
"A kind of midnight wanderer, eh?"
"Yes, 'e's always a-pryin' about at night. Not long ago 'e foundburglars in a 'ouse in Gloucester Terrace, and gave us the alarm. Wecopped four of 'em. The magistrate gave 'im a guinea out o' thepoor-box."
"Ah! so he's of use to you?"
"Yes, sir, 'e's most intelligent where there's any suspiciouscharacters about. I've often put 'im on the watch myself."
"Then he's not quite insane?"
"Not on that point, at any rate," laughed the officer.
"Where does he live?"
"'Is father's a hackney-carriage driver, and 'e lives with 'im up inGloucester Mews, just at the back of Porchester Mews--I don't know ifyou know it?"
I was compelled to confess ignorance of the locality, but he directedme.
"Are you on night-duty in Porchester Terrace, constable?" I asked afew moments later.
"Yes, sir, sometimes. Why?"
"You know Althorp House, of course?"
"Yes, the 'aunted 'ouse, as some people call it. Myself, I don'tbelieve in ghosts."
"Neither do I," I laughed, "but I've heard many funny stories aboutthat place. Have you ever heard any?"
"Lots, sir," replied the man. "We're always being told of strangethings that 'ave 'appened there, yet when we 'ave a look around wenever find anything, so we've ceased to trouble. Our inspector'sgiven us orders not to make any further inquiries, 'e's been worriedtoo often over idle gossip."
"What's the latest story afloat concerning the place?" I asked. "I'malways interested in mysteries of that sort."
"Oh, I 'eard yesterday that somebody was seen to get out of a taxi-caband enter. And 'e 'asn't been seen to come forth again."
"That's curious," I said. "And haven't you looked over the place?"
"I'm not on duty there. Perhaps my mate 'as. I don't know.But, funnily enough," added the officer, "Mad 'Arry has beentellin' me something about it a moment ago--something I can'tunderstand--something about the garden. I suppose 'e's been a-fancyin'something or other. Everybody seems to see something in the garden, orat the windows. Why, about a week ago, a servant from one of the'ouses in the Terrace came up to me at three o'clock in the afternoon,in broad daylight, and said as how she'd distinctly seen at thedrawin'-room window the face of a pretty, fair-haired girl a-peerin'through the side of the dirty blind. She described the girl, too, andsaid that as soon as she saw she was noticed the inmate of the placedrew back instantly."
"A fair-haired girl!" I exclaimed, quickly interested.
"Yes; she described her as wearin' a black velvet band on her hair."
"And what did you do?" I asked anxiously.
"Why, nothing. I've 'eard too many o' them kind o' tales before."
"Yes," I said reflectively. "Of course all kinds of legends andrumours must naturally spring up around a house so long closed."
"Of course. It's all in people's imagination. I suppose they'll saynext that a murder's been committed in the place!" he laughed.
"I suppose so," I said, and then, putting a shilling in his hand,wished him good-night, and passed along.
Jack and the idiot had gone, but, knowing the direction they hadtaken--for the youth was, no doubt, on his way home--I was not longbefore I caught up my friend, and then together we retraced our stepstowards the Bayswater Road, in search of a taxi.
I could not forget that curious statement that a girl's face had beenseen at the drawing-room window--a fair-headed girl with a band ofblack velvet in her hair.
Could it have been Sylvia Pennington?
It was past three o'clock in the morning before I retraced my steps toWilton Street. We were unable to find a cab, therefore we walked downPark Lane together.
On the way Jack had pressed me to tell him the reason of my visit tothat weird house and the circumstances in which my life had beenattempted. For the present, however, I refused to satisfy hiscuriosity. I promised him I would tell him the whole facts of thecase some day.
"But why are you at home now?" he asked. "I can't really make you outlately, Owen. You told me you hated London, and preferred life on theContinent, yet here you are, back again, and quite settled down intown!"
"Well, a fellow must come here for the London season sometimes," Isaid. "I feel that I've been away far too long, and am a bit out oftouch with things. Why, my tailor hardly knew me, and the hall-porterat White's had to look twice before he realized who I was."
&
nbsp; "But there's some attraction which has brought you to London," hedeclared. "I'm sure there is!"
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him how cleverly the twoscoundrels had used his name wherewith to entrap me on the previousnight. But I refrained. Instead, I asked--
"Have you ever met two men named Reckitt and Forbes, Jack?"
"Not to my knowledge," was his prompt reply. "Who are they? What arethey like?"
I gave him a minute description of both, but he apparently did notrecognize them.
"I suppose you've never met a fellow called Pennington--eh? Astoutish, dark-haired man with a baldish head and a reddish face?"
"Well," he replied thoughtfully, "I've met a good many men who mightanswer to that description. What is he?"
"I don't exactly know. I've met him on the Continent."
"And I suppose some people one meets at Continental hotels areundesirables, aren't they?" he said.
I nodded in the affirmative.
Then I asked--
"You've never known a person named Shuttleworth--Edmund Shuttleworth?Lives at a little village close to Andover."
"Shuttleworth!" he echoed, looking straight into my face. "What do youknow of Edmund Shuttleworth?" he asked quickly.
"Very little. Do you know him?"
"Er--well--no, not exactly," was his faltering reply, and I saw in hisslight hesitation an intention to conceal the actual knowledge whichhe possessed. "I've heard of him--through a friend of mine--a ladyfriend."
"A lady! Who's she?" I inquired quickly.
"Well," he laughed a trifle uneasily, "the fact is, old chap, perhapsit wouldn't be fair to tell the story. You understand?"
I was silent. What did he mean? In a second the allegation made bythat pair of scoundrels recurred to me. They had declared that Sylviahad been in a house opposite, and that my friend had fallen in lovewith her.
Yet he had denied acquaintanceship with Pennington!
No doubt the assassins had lied to me, yet my suspicions had beenaroused. Jack had admitted his acquaintance with the thin-facedvillage rector--he knew of him through a woman. Was that woman Sylviaherself?
From his manner and the great curiosity he evinced, I felt assuredthat he had never known of Althorp House before. Reckitt and Forbeshad uttered lies when they had shown me that photograph, and told methat she was beloved by my best friend. It had been done to increasemy anger and chagrin. Yet might there not, after all, have been somefoundation in truth in what they had said? The suggestion gripped mysenses.
Again I asked him to tell me the lady's name.
But, quite contrary to his usual habit of confiding in me all his mostprivate affairs, he steadfastly refused.
"No, my dear old chap," he replied, "I really can't tell you that.Please excuse me, but it is a matter I would rather not discuss."
So at the corner of Piccadilly we parted, for it was now broaddaylight, and while he returned to his rooms, I walked down GrosvenorPlace to Wilton Street, more than ever puzzled and confounded.
Was I a fool, that I loved Sylvia Pennington with such anall-absorbing passion?
It was strangely true, as Shuttleworth had declared, the grave lay asa gulf between us.
Hushed Up! A Mystery of London Page 13