The Woman with One Hand, and Mr. Ely's Engagement

by Richard Marsh

  CHAPTER VIII

  "MURDERER!"

  He would not go home. I spent, I daresay, an hour in seeking topersuade him. I pointed out the injury he was doing to himself, thewrong which he was doing his wife. I went further--I more than hintedat the suspicions which might fall upon him in connection with theRothwell murder; plainly asserting that it would be the part ofwisdom, to speak of nothing else, for him to put in an appearance onthe scene, look the business squarely in the face, and see it boldlythrough. But he was not to be induced. The most that I could get fromhim was a promise that he would come to the front, to use his ownwords, "when the time was ripe"--what he meant by them was more than Icould tell. In return, he extracted a promise from me that I would saynothing of our meeting to his wife until he gave me leave--a promisewhich was only given on the strength of his solemn asseveration thatsuch silence on my part would be best for his wife's sake, and formine. He would give me no address. In reply to my fishing inquiriesinto the mystery of his personal action he maintained an impenetrablereserve--he was not to be drawn. One thing he did condescend to do: heborrowed all the loose cash which I had in my pockets.

  Mrs. Barnes had supplied me with a latchkey; I had been accustomed tolet myself in with it when I was late. My surprise was thereforeconsiderable when, directly I inserted the key in the lock, the doorwas opened from within, and there confronting me stood the ubiquitousnew waiter, with the inevitable smile upon his face.

  "What are you sitting up for at this hour of the night? You know verywell that I have a key of my own."

  He continued to stand in the stiff, poker-like attitude which alwaysreminded me of a soldier rather than of a waiter. Not a muscle of hiscountenance moved.

  "I have been accustomed to act as a night porter, sir."

  "Then you needn't trouble yourself to act as a night porter to me. Letme take this opportunity to speak to you a word of a sort. What is thenature of the interest you take in my proceedings, I do not know. Thatyou do take a peculiar interest is a little too obvious. While Iremain in this house I intend to come, and to go, and to do exactly asI please. The next time I have cause to suspect you of spying upon mymovements you will be the recipient of the best licking you ever hadin all your life. You understand? I shall keep my word, so you hadbetter make a note of it."

  The fellow said nothing in return; his lips were closely pursedtogether. I might have been speaking to a dummy, except that therecame a gleam into his eyes which scarcely suggested that his heart wasfilled with the milk of human kindness.

  When I had reached my bedroom, and, having undressed, was opening mynight shirt preparatory to putting it on, there fell from one of thefolds of the garment a scrap of paper.

  "What now?" I asked myself, as I watched it go fluttering to thefloor. I picked it up; it only contained four words, and they were inMrs. Barnes's writing: "You are in danger."

  This, veritably, was an hotel of all the mysteries. Whether thehusband or the wife was the more curious character, was, certainly, anopen question. For days she had avoided me. In spite of my attempts toinduce her to enter into conversation I had scarcely been able to geta word out of her edgeways. Why had she chosen this eccentric methodof conveying to me such an enigmatic message? I was in danger! Ofwhat? It struck me forcibly, and not for the first time, that if Iremained much longer an inmate of Barnes's hotel I should be indistinct danger of one thing--of going mad!

  I had still some papers left to copy, out of the last batch which Mrs.Lascelles-Trevor had given me. I had been accustomed to do my work inher private sitting-room, it being my habit, as I understood it, inaccordance with her wish, first to have breakfast, and then to goupstairs and ask her if she was prepared for me to commence my duties.The next morning I followed the ordinary course of procedure, and wasat her door, if anything, rather before the usual hour. But instead ofvouchsafing me a courteous greeting, as it was her wont to do, shecommenced to rate me soundly, asking me if I thought that her time wasof no account, since I kept her waiting till it suited me to give hermy attention.

  I made no attempt to excuse myself, imagining that she was sufferingfrom an attack of indigestion, or from some other complaint whichfemale flesh is peculiarly heir to, contenting myself with repeatingmy inquiry as to whether she was ready to avail herself of myproffered services. The fashion of her rejoinder hardly suggested thatthe lady who made it was stamped with the stamp which is, poetically,supposed to mark the caste of Vere de Vere.

  "Don't ask me such absurd questions! You don't suppose that I'm theservant, and you're the master. Sit down, and begin your work at once,and don't try any of your airs with me!"

  I sat down, and began my work at once. It was not for me to argue witha lady. Beggars may not be choosers, and I could only hope that theinfirmities of a feminine temper might not be too frequently inevidence as a sort of honorary addition to the charms of my salary.

  That the lady meant to be disagreeable I could have no doubt as theminutes went by; and scarcely had I commenced to write than she beganat me again. She found fault with my work, with what I had done, withwhat I had left undone, as it seemed to me, quite causelessly. I boreher reproaches as meekly as the mildest mortal could have done.

  My meekness seemed to inflame rather than to appease her. She saidthings which were altogether uncalled for, and which beyond doubt anoffice boy would have resented. That I should keep my temper in faceof her continued provocation evidently annoyed her. Suddenly springingout of her chair, she bounced from the room.

  "I trust," I said, apostrophising her when she had gone, "that whenyou do return your temperature will be appreciably lower. In any case,I fancy, Mrs. Lascelles-Trevor, that you and I shall not long standtowards each other in the position of employee and employer. Evenby a lady one does not care to be called over the coals--and suchcoals!--for nothing at all. One had almost better starve than betreated, in and out of season, as a whipping boy."

  The papers which I was engaged in copying comprised all sorts of oddsand ends, more worthy, I should have thought, of the rubbish heap thanof transcription. They were about all sorts of things, and were in nosort of order, and why they should be deemed worthy of being enshrinedin the beautiful manuscript book with which Mrs. Lascelles-Trevor hadsupplied me was beyond my comprehension.

  I had finished transcribing one paper. Laying it down, I drew towardsme another. It was a letter, and was in a hand which I had notpreviously encountered. The caligraphy, even the paper on which theletter was written, filled me with a strange sense of familiarity.Where had I seen that carefully crabbed, characteristic handwritingbefore?--every letter as plain as copperplate, yet the whole conveyingthe impression of coming from an unlettered man. I had had a previousacquaintance with it, and that quite recently.

  I had it--it came to me in a flash of memory!

  The writing was that which had come to me in the communication whichhad been signed Duncan Rothwell. This letter and that letter hademanated from the same scribe. I could have sworn to it. Even thepaper was the same. I remembered taking particular notice of the largesheet of post, with the unusually coarse grain; here was that sheet'stwin brother!

  What was a letter from Duncan Rothwell doing among Mrs.Lascelles-Trevor's papers?

  It was my duty to copy the thing. It was, therefore, necessary that Ishould read it. It bore no date and no address. It began:--"My dearestAmelia." Who was my dearest Amelia? A glance sufficed to show me thatit was a love-letter, and a love-letter of an uncommon kind. Clearly,there had been some blunder. Such an epistle could not intentionallyhave been lumped with that olla podrida of scraps and scrawls. It wasout of place in such a gallery. What was I to do?

  The question was answered for me. While I still hesitated, Mrs.Lascelles-Trevor reappeared. I said nothing, but I daresay that theexpression of my features and the gingerly style in which I held theletter out in front of me, conveyed a hint that I had lighted onsomething out of the way. Probably,
too, she recognised the letterdirectly she caught sight of it, even from the other side of theroom. Anyhow, she came striding forward--she was a woman who couldstride--and, without any sort of ceremony, leaning across the table,she snatched it from my hand. For an instant I expected she wouldstrike me--she was in such a passion. The veins stood out on her browlike bands; her lips gave convulsive twitches.

  Since it seemed that rage had deprived her of the faculty of speech, Iendeavoured to explain the situation by feigning ignorance that therewas a situation to explain.

  "Do you wish me to copy this letter in the same way as the others?"

  My voice was suave; hers, when it came, was not.

  "You beast!" That was the epithet which she was pleased to hurl at me."I might have guessed you were a thief!"

  "Madam!"

  Her language was so atrocious, and her anger, so far as I wasconcerned, so unjustifiable, that I knew not what to make of her.

  "Where did you steal that letter?"

  I stood up. "Mrs. Lascelles-Trevor, you go too far. You appear to beunder the, I assure you, erroneous impression that, in engaging a manto fill the honourable post of your secretary, you buy him body andsoul to do as you will."

  "You smooth-tongued hound! Don't think to play the hypocrite with me,or you will find yourself in custody on a charge of theft."

  I looked her steadily in the face--fury seemed to have distended hernaturally generous proportions.

  "I fear, madam, that this morning you are suffering from ill-health.When you are yourself again, I feel sure you will tender yourapologies."

  I moved towards the door. But she would not let me go. She placedherself in front of me.

  "Don't think that you deceive me! Don't think that your attitudinisingcan impose on me! If you do, you are in error. I have known you fromthe first--yes, before I saw you in the actual flesh. I knew JonasHartopp as well as you, and when he fell I swore that I would gibbetthe wretch who slew him. All this time I have been watching you, theavenger of blood; I have been tracking you, step by step, playing thevery sleuth-hound: It only needs a very little to enable me to proveyour guilt up to the hilt; and you may be very sure of this, JamesSoutham, that though you seek to hide yourself in the nethermostcorners of the earth, I will have you brought back to hang!"

  Her words were so wild, and the charge with which she sought to brandme such a monstrous birth of a diseased imagination, that the mostcharitable supposition could be that the woman was mentally unhinged.I treated her with the contempt she merited.

  "Possibly, madam, when at your leisure you have credited me with allthe vices, you will suffer me to leave the room."

  "That is the tone you take up; you sneer, and sneer, and sneer! Iforesaw it. Do not suppose that this further proof of your deficiencyin all sense of shame takes me by surprise. So black-hearted a villainwas not likely to have a conscience which could be easily pricked. Youmay go--still this once! It will not be for long; your wings will soonbe clipped. I shall soon have you in a cage. Be sure of this: I willshow you as little mercy as you showed your helpless victim when hehad walked into the trap which you had set for him. You had best becareful. And never forget that wherever you go my emissaries keep youwell in sight; whatever you do is known to me within the hour. I haveno intention of letting the cord which holds you run too loose."

  When she stopped to take breath, I bowed. "I thank you, madam, foryour permission to leave the room, and do protest that I esteem myselfhighly honoured, in that you should take so acute an interest, as yousay you do, in my humble person."

  She let me go, though seemingly not a little against her will. Even atthe last moment I should not have been surprised if she had assailedme with actual physical violence. But she retained sufficient vestigesof self-control to refrain from doing that. When I opened the door shecaught hold of the handle to prevent my shutting it. As I went out shefollowed me on to the landing. I, supposing she desired to godownstairs, moved aside so as to permit of her passage. She took nonotice of my action, so I went downstairs. As I went, she stood at thehead of the flight, observing me as I descended, and she said, in atone of voice which was too audible to be pleasant for me--

  "Murderer!"