simultaneously.
The theory impressed itself upon me that a woman was responsible forboth crimes. It was a woman who had stood panting near me, who hadnoiselessly tested me to ascertain whether I could distinguish objectsabout me, and who had afterwards left the house. My blindness had, nodoubt, saved my life.
Before leaving she had, for some unknown reason, locked thecommunicating door and taken the key. But upon the air, after she hadgone, there lingered the subtle fragrance of _peau d'Espagne_, the sameperfume used by the woman whose cool palm had soothed my brow.Nevertheless, it seemed impossible that a woman could thus commit adouble crime so swiftly and with such force as to drive a knife to theheart of a man and fling him back upon me--all in silence, without theutterance of one single word.
With my eyes only a void of blackness, this mystery was bewildering, andrendered the more tantalising by my inability to gaze about me. I hadbeen present at the enactment of a terrible drama, but had not witnessedit, and could not, therefore, recognise either culprit or victims.
Again I searched the great handsome room, in order to rivet all itsdetails upon my memory. It had three long windows opening down to thefloor, which showed that it was situated in the back of the house,otherwise they must have opened upon the street. In one corner was apedestal, whereon stood a marble bust of a dancing-woman, like those Ihad seen in the sculptor's at Pisa before the days of my darkness.There were tables, too, with glass tops wherein, I supposed, were curiosand bric-a-brac, and before the great fireplace was stretched atiger-skin, with the paws preserved.
While groping there, however, my hand came into contact with somethingwhich I found was a narrow, three-edged knife, so sharp that I cut myfinger while feeling it. It had a cross-hilt, and the blade was thinand triangular, tapering to a point. The shape I knew to be Italian,one of those Florentine stilettos used long ago in the Middle Ages, awound from which was almost certain to be fatal. The Italians have longago brought the use of the knife to a fine art, and even to-day, murdersby stabbing are the most usual occurrences reported in their newspapers.The blade of this antique weapon was about nine inches long, and thehandle velvet-covered and bound with wire, probably either gold orsilver. The point was sharp as a needle.
My first impulse was to take possession of it; but, on reflection, I sawthat if I did so grave suspicion might possibly fall upon me. I mighteven be charged with the murder, especially as I had already in mypocket the dead's man stud and pencil-case. This thought caused me tothrow down the stiletto, and, continuing my search, I at length foundthe door which gave egress to the place.
I opened it and stood in the hall to listen. There was no sound. Thestillness of the night remained quite unbroken, and I believed myselfalone with the dead. By coughing, the echo of my voice showed that thehall and staircase were wide and spacious. Then it struck me that I hadno stick, without which I feared to walk; but, groping about, I found anumbrella stand, and took therefrom a stout thorn, the handle of whichseemed smooth-worn by long usage.
What was my best course? Should I go forth secretly, return home andawait the discovery of the terrible affair, which would no doubt befully reported in those evening newspapers which revel in crime? Orshould I go out and inform the first constable I met? The latter, Isaw, was my duty, and even though I had no desire to mix myself up insuch a mysterious and sensational affair, I resolved to go at once andstate all that I heard.
Whether the street door was situated to right or left I knew not, buttrying the right first, I found that the door was at the end of thehall. Opening it, I passed out, and having closed it again noiselesslywent down the five wide steps into the deserted street.
There were iron railings in front of the house, and before the door wasa big stone portico. My hands told me both these details.
I turned to the left, and after walking some little distance crossed aroad and kept on down a long road which, although it did not appear tobe a main thoroughfare, seemed to run straight as an arrow. For fully aquarter of an hour I walked on without meeting a soul. The only noisethat broke the quiet was the dismal howl of a dog, and now and then thedistant shriek and low roar of trains. Suddenly I found myself in quitea labyrinth of crooked streets, and after several turns emerged intowhat I presumed to be one of the great arteries of London.
I stood listening. The air was fresh, and it seemed to me that dawn wasspreading. Afar I could hear the measured, heavy tread of apolice-constable, and hurried in his direction. As I did so I put outmy stick and it struck some iron railings. A few minutes later, in hothaste, I overtook the man of heavy tread, and addressing him, said--
"Tell me, please, are you a constable?"
"Well, I believe I am," answered a rough voice, pleasantly withal. "Butcan't you see?"
"No, unfortunately I can't," I replied. "Where am I?"
"Outside the South Kensington Museum. Where do you want to go?"
"I want you to come with me," I said.
"With you. What's up?"
"I've been present at a terrible tragedy," I blurted forth. "Two peoplehave been murdered."
"Two people?" exclaimed the voice, quickly interested. "Where?"
"In--in a house," I faltered, for not until that instant did theappalling truth occur to me. I had wandered away from the place, andhad no idea of its outward appearance, or in what road it was situated!
"Well, double murders don't often take place in the street, sonny.But--" and the voice hesitated.
"Why, there's blood on your clothes, I see! Tell me all about it.Where's the house?"
"I confess that I've been foolishly stupid, for I've left it, and Icould never find my way back again. I'm blind, you see, and I've noidea of its exterior appearance."
"At any rate you've been near enough to the affair to get yourself in apretty mess," the rough voice said, somewhat suspiciously. "Surely youhave some idea of where the affair took place?"
The situation was certainly the most curious in which any man could beplaced, for with only one thought in my mind, namely, to raise thealarm, I had gone forth from the house of mystery and failed to mark it.This negligence of mine might, I reflected, result in the affair beinghushed up for ever. London is a big place in which to search for thescene of a murder upon which my eyes had never gazed, and the details ofwhich I only knew by my sense of touch. How many thousands of housesthere were in the West End each with its smoke-blackened portico andlittle piece of area railing.
"No," I responded to the officer's inquiry. "I was so bent upon givinginformation that I forgot to place any mark upon the house by which toknow it again."
"Well, I've 'eard a good many funny stories while I've been onnight-duty in these eighteen years, but your yarn is about the rummestof the lot," he said bluntly.
"I only know that the house is a large one, very well furnished, and hasa portico and railings in front--a double house, with hall in thecentre, and rooms on either side."
"That don't 'elp us very much, sonny," the voice observed. "What's thegood o' running after me with a yarn like this if you can't take me tothe spot? To judge from the state of your clothes, though, you've beenin some scrap or another. If your coat was not covered with blood as itis, I'd be inclined to put you down as a chap with a screw loose."
"I'm not demented, I tell you," I cried warmly. "There's a terriblecrime been committed, and I have sought your assistance."
"And I'd go and have a look at the premises with you, if you could onlytell me where they are. But as you can't--well, what are we to do,sonny?"
CHAPTER FOUR.
THE WOMAN.
"Take me at once to the police-station," I said firmly. "I must make astatement to your inspector on duty."
"Not much good, is it, if you can't tell us where the affair tookplace?" queried the man, impertinently.
"It is my duty to make the report, and the duty of the police toinvestigate it," I answered, annoyed, for it seemed as though he doubtedme.
"That
's a nasty cut on your hand," he remarked. "How did you get it?"
"I cut it myself by accident with the knife."
"What knife?"
"The knife with which the murders were committed."
"And what were you doing with it?" inquired the constable, utterlyregardless of the strict police regulation which forbids an officer toput any such questions.
"I found it," I replied.
"Where?"
"On the floor of the room, while I was searching about."
The man grunted dubiously.
I was well aware of the suspicion which must fall upon me, for I knewthere was blood upon my
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