The House Opposite

by J. Jefferson Farjeon

  ‘You were right, Mr Clitheroe!’ exclaimed Doris gratefully. ‘Please forgive me for my doubts when I first came in.’

  ‘Not at all!’ he protested. ‘Not at all! Your doubts were perfectly natural. And the only reason I couldn’t explain matters more fully to you before was because I hesitated to put anything definite in writing. I indicated the danger, and trusted—rightly, as matters have turned out—to your good sense to take a hint.’

  ‘Yes, but what I want to know is this,’ interposed Douglas, growing more indignant every moment. His hot temper was being roused to fever point. ‘What has the skunk got against me? There’s nothing he could have! You believe that, don’t you, Doris?’ he cried, turning to her swiftly.

  ‘Of course, she believes it,’ said Mr Clitheroe soothingly, and moving to the cupboard under his desk, ‘and of course I believe it. The trouble is that the world isn’t so kind, and that, as our “skunk”—most satisfactory term that, eh?—as our “skunk” well knows, mud sticks. Now, I suggest a little drink before we proceed any farther—to reinforce ourselves for the next step, eh, Mr Randall?’

  Douglas hesitated, and Doris looked at him warningly.

  ‘Just a small tot,’ urged the old man, already producing the decanter. ‘The next step is not going to be an easy one, and our “skunk”—yes, the term is admirable—is an ugly customer. This will help you to deal with him.’

  He held out the glass. Douglas took it with a short laugh.

  ‘He’s right, Doris,’ he said. ‘This’ll make me twice my size!’

  He drained the glass. The effect was not cooling.

  ‘Now then, I’m ready for him,’ declared Douglas ‘By Jove, sir, that was good! Just right. Well, when’s he coming?’

  ‘Be careful, dear!’ warned Doris.

  ‘He’s the one that’s got to be careful,’ responded Douglas. ‘Thinks he can come along and upset the universe with his dirty yarns! Well, he’s going to find out his mistake. When is he coming, Mr Clitheroe? I want to meet him now. Now!’

  ‘He is waiting to meet you now,’ answered Mr Clitheroe quietly.

  ‘Do you mean he’s here, in the house, at this moment?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What—is it that miserable little toad you chased in the hall—’

  ‘No, not him. That miserable little toad—really, your terms are most happy—that miserable little toad is merely one of—one of the brotherhood. The unbrotherly brotherhood. He has come along with the skunk to see there’s fair play. He didn’t quite trust me, you see. And—well, perhaps he had no cause to, eh?’

  Mr Clitheroe chuckled. He seemed to be enjoying himself. Douglas laughed also.

  ‘You bet,’ he agreed. ‘But where is the skunk, then?’

  ‘Upstairs.’

  ‘Good! We’ll go up now. At least, you and I will. Come along.’

  Mr Clitheroe glanced at the girl. She was paler than ever, and her eyes were full of apprehension. .

  ‘Well—do you stay here, my dear?’ he inquired. ‘Or—do you think—it might be wiser if you came up with us?’

  ‘You stay here, Doris!’ ordered Douglas. ‘Mr Clitheroe, can I pour myself out one more small dose? Just a small one? Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.’

  He did not wait for permission. Mr Clitheroe continued to look at Doris.

  ‘He may need you, to restrain him,’ murmured the old man. ‘Really, I’m getting a little alarmed.’

  ‘Of course, I’m coming up with you,’ said the girl definitely. ‘I wouldn’t dream of staying away.’

  ‘Very wise, very wise,’ nodded Mr Clitheroe. ‘Quite apart from anything else, it will be much happier in the end if you, also, hear what our friend upstairs has to say.’ He turned to the young man. ‘Well, Mr Randall, we’re ready. I wouldn’t touch any more of that, if I were you.’

  ‘I’m not going to,’ responded Douglas, having now worked himself up to the necessary degree of courage. Normally, he was not overburdened with it. ‘I know when to stop. Come along, come along!’

  He was first out of the room. Doris followed quickly, and laid a restraining hand on his arm. She had entered the house in fear. Now she was terrified.

  ‘Douglas!’ she whispered in his ear. ‘Let’s go away!’

  ‘Go away!’ exclaimed Douglas thickly. ‘Before we’ve dealt with this blackguard.’

  ‘Yes. I’m afraid.’

  ‘Well, I’m not.’

  ‘Please! Please!’

  Douglas frowned, and shook her arm off.

  ‘But you heard what Mr Clitheroe said,’ he cried.

  ‘And he was damn right! If we don’t settle this now, we’ll never settle it. He’ll follow us home. He’ll kick up all the mud he can invent, and we’ll have him on our heels all our lives.’

  ‘But who’s going to believe him, Douglas?’

  ‘Everybody.’

  ‘Except me,’ she whispered, taking his arm again.

  Douglas hesitated. A momentary doubt flashed through his brain. Was she right?…

  Standing in the kitchen doorway, Ted Flitt felt himself projected forward. He did not see the arm that projected him, quietly and firmly, but he guessed its colour. As though a will stronger than his own had entered into him, he walked forward after that preliminary propulsion till he came within the vision of the young man hesitating by the staircase. And there he stood, smiling evilly, and fulfilling the design of the stronger will.

  For, on seeing Ted Flitt, Douglas Randall hesitated no longer. The sight inflamed him, recreating his spasmodic ferocity.

  ‘Hallo—there’s the toad, isn’t it?’ he cried. ‘We’ll deal with him later, eh?’

  Mr Clitheroe nodded and, as Flitt retreated from sight—drawn back once more by the stronger will, the design of which had now been accomplished—the old man moved to the stairs and invited Douglas to follow him.

  A few seconds later Mahdi stood in the hall alone, listening to the sound of ascending footsteps.

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  THE PERFORMANCE

  WHILE Mahdi listened to the receding footsteps from the hall below, Wharton listened to the same footsteps from the second floor front above; but in his case the footsteps grew louder and louder instead of softer and softer, and his mouth tightened grimly as he toyed with a revolver in his hand.

  ‘God, I’ll be glad when this damned game’s over!’ he muttered. ‘S’pose it don’t go according to plan?’

  But the plan had been decided on and there was no turning back now. Wavering, indeed, might spell defeat. So when the door opened Wharton quickly banished all outward sign of uncertainty, and greeted his visitors with a grin of sneering assurance.

  ‘Ah! So we’ve arrived!’ he exclaimed impertinently. ‘Good! We’ve wasted enough time, as it is.’

  ‘I agree to that,’ replied Mr Clitheroe, playing his part as convincingly as his accomplice was playing his. ‘The sooner we get down to business the better. Mr Randall, this is our skunk.’ As Wharton raised his eyebrows the old man turned back to him and continued: ‘Yes, that is our name for you, and we think it rather an appropriate name. Yon don’t mind, I hope? This is Mr Randall, and this is Miss Sherwin, his fiancée. And, now the introductions are over, what is the next step?’

  ‘The next step is ten thousand pounds,’ answered Wharton, coolly.

  ‘No, it’s this!’ cried Douglas, who had remained silent during these preliminaries with difficulty.

  He raised his fist, but Doris seized his arm. Wharton’s revolver was pointing towards her heart.

  ‘Now, just stop talking, all of you,’ said Wharton, ‘and listen. Believe me, it’ll save a lot of time, and you can reckon I mean to save it! You can also reckon that this little affair I’ve got in my hand will go off the moment I want it to—’

  ‘You fool!’ interrupted Mr Clitheroe. ‘If you use your pea-shooter it’ll be heard all over the street.’

  ‘Oh, no, it won’t,’ retorted Wharton, suddenly discovering
that he was rather enjoying himself. He was acting under orders, but there was some amusement in the fact that he had to appear to be hectoring the very persons whose orders he was carrying out. ‘Oh, no, it won’t, Mr Clitheroe! My little pea-shooter, as you call it, is one of those dumb little fellers. No one would hear a sound. It just does its work quietly, and says nothing about it. So, you see, you’d better do your work quietly, too. Now then! Get over by the window, you old fossil. And you get there, too, Mr Douglas Randall.’ As the men obeyed, the one with feigned, the other with genuine anger, he addressed Doris who was standing motionless. ‘You needn’t go so far away, my dear,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind company, if it’s the right kind.’

  ‘You bounder!’ Douglas blurted out. ‘Why didn’t you warn me he had a gun, Mr Clitheroe?’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ murmured Mr Clitheroe apologetically, ‘or I’d have brought one up myself.’

  ‘Of course he didn’t know,’ sneered Wharton. ‘Do you think I’m quite green? D’you think I don’t know how and when to play my cards? This little silent friend of mine is one of the cards and now we’ve got that fixed we’ll get down to the game. Oh, but there’s just one thing I’d like to add first. This little silent gun of mine isn’t the only one inside this pretty building. There are others about, and I’ve plenty of friends in the vicinity. If, by chance, any accident did happen to me, it wouldn’t help you in the least. On the contrary, it would only increase your difficulties, for then there’d be my death to hush up, as well as sundry other little matters I’m now going to talk about, and the ten thousand pounds I mentioned a moment ago would jump up to twenty or thirty.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ asked Mr Clitheroe.

  ‘Dead serious, to use an appropriate phrase,’ responded Wharton, with a wink. ‘I’ll be more trouble to you dead than alive.’

  ‘But isn’t there some law that excuses the murder of a blackmailer?’ suggested Mr Clitheroe.

  ‘There may be,’ agreed Wharton; ‘but one’s got to go through a lot of danger and mud to reach it. And, if Mr Randall does get hold of my little friend here’—he wagged his revolver—‘and saves his own skin afterwards, it won’t save Miss Sherwin’s skin. You see, my friends have made a little oath for my security at this interview. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth—and a life for a life. The life required to pay for my life would be Miss Sherwin’s. So that’s that, everybody, and now how about that ten thousand pounds.’

  ‘Yes, but what are you to receive ten thousand pounds for?’ burst out Mr Clitheroe, who had appointed himself as spokesman.

  ‘For not spreading certain unpleasant news,’ answered Wharton, ‘concerning our young friend here, Mr Randall.’

  Then Douglas found his tongue.

  ‘News? What news, you dirty hound?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘A lady is present,’ coughed Wharton.

  ‘She wants to hear,’ said the lady faintly.

  ‘Very well, then,’ sighed Wharton, and shrugging his shoulders, he laid the revolver down on a little table beside him. He did so, apparently, so that his hands might be free to bring a letter-case out of his pocket.

  Mr Clitheroe eyed the revolver. The little table was on Wharton’s left. Doris was on his right. Near the table was a cupboard door, and for an instant Mr Clitheroe shot a glance at that, also…

  ‘I have a statement here,’ said Wharton, still fumbling with his letter-case, ‘which is signed by five witnesses. Each witness can be produced, if necessary, and each is ready to come forward—’

  ‘For how much apiece?’ inquired Mr Clitheroe smoothly.

  He was advancing towards the little table, and paused to put the question. Wharton did not glance at him. His eyes were fixed on those of Douglas.

  ‘I work for money, but they would work for love,’ replied Wharton cynically. ‘Sheer love of the truth.’

  Mr Clitheroe advanced a step or two nearer the little table.

  ‘Yes, for sheer love of the truth, Mr Randall,’ went on Wharton. ‘They are not here at this moment, unfortunately, because they all live at—Eastbourne. By the way, have you ever been to Eastbourne, Mr Randall?’

  ‘Who hasn’t?’ retorted Douglas.

  Mr Clitheroe’s hand went forward quietly, and descended on the revolver on the little table.

  ‘Well, I hadn’t, until three months ago,’ answered Wharton. ‘Did you happen to be there, about that time? I see from your expression that you did happen to be there. And were you with him, Miss Sherwin?’ he inquired, now turning to the girl. ‘I have an idea that you were not.’

  Mr Clitheroe’s hand came away from the little table. The revolver was in it.

  ‘Do you suppose I follow him wherever he goes?’ she retorted hotly. ‘Douglas! What does he mean?’

  ‘No, you were in Le Touquet, Miss Sherwin. Mr Randall joined you later. But not before he had exhausted certain very pleasant possibilities in Eastbourne, and had sown some agreeable if awkward memories there—’

  ‘You’re lying!’ shouted Douglas.

  Mr Clitheroe began to retreat quietly from the little table towards the window. Outside, the fog was thickening. Perhaps he owed the success of his manoeuvring in the room.

  ‘I have five people who will prove I am not lying,’ answered Wharton, ‘and who can prove to you, Miss Sherwin, as well as to others, that the facts written out on this sheet of paper are accurate.’ He was still looking at the girl, and all at once his eyes kindled greedily, and he smiled. ‘I can well understand how sorry Mr Randall would be to lose your affection.’

  ‘Don’t be impudent!’ she flared.

  Mr Clitheroe reached the window. He laid the revolver down on a chair. The chair was between him and Douglas.

  ‘Really, Miss Sherwin, you tempt me to be more impudent still,’ replied Wharton, with a leer. ‘When one looks at you, one understands how easy it is for men to fall. Whether in Eastbourne or in London—’

  ‘Here,’ cried Douglas. ‘Stop looking at her like that—’

  As though to emphasise the picture, Mr Clitheroe switched on a light. The faces of Wharton and Doris became illuminated in the surrounding dimness. His was red and inflamed with sudden ugly desire. Hers was white.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I look at her,’ said Wharton, continuing to do so. ‘Why shouldn’t I? Beauty above money, eh? Yes suppose I reduce the ten thousand pounds to nine—for a kiss?’

  Before she could retreat, he suddenly threw his arms around her. She gave a frightened gasp, and struggled, to free herself. Douglas’s eyes fell upon the revolver, so invitingly within his reach…

  What happened during the ensuing moments Douglas never rightly knew. Impotence, fear, and anger swept over him, and the drink that seemed temporarily to have dulled his brain now fanned the fierce flame. He seized the revolver and fired. No sound came out of the muzzle, but the man at whom he fired gave a stifled shout and fell to the ground. The girl, now free, tottered and swayed.

  ‘Catch her—she’s fainting!’ rasped Mr Clitheroe.

  Douglas did not move. He stood dazed.

  ‘Quick, fool! She’ll fall!’ came Mr Clitheroe’s sharp command again.

  Douglas lurched forward. He got to her somehow, and she lay inert in his arms. Meanwhile, the old man was glancing out of the window, through a little gap in the curtains…a little overlooked gap…

  A face peered at him through the little gap. A face across the way. No, not a complete face. Just the upper part, including the eyes. Mr Clitheroe’s own eyes became momentarily transfixed. For an instant he seemed on the point of losing his admirable composure. An instant later, however, he had swiftly closed the, curtains, and his voice came softly and swiftly across the room to the agonised young man who was holding his unconscious fiancee in his arms.

  ‘Listen! Do as I tell you!’ said Mr Clitheroe. ‘You have killed a man, and we are surrounded by that man’s friends. The danger is obvious. Take Miss Sherwin quickly into the room at the back—just across the passage—a
nd wait there. Quickly! Quickly! Don’t leave until I come for you. No, no—better still, I’ll send my daughter to you. Luckily she is in the house. When my daughter comes, then you can leave Miss Sherwin with her and return here. But not before, remember! Miss Sherwin will be in danger if she is left alone.’

  He crossed to the door and opened it. Stunned, bewildered, and with his nerves shattered, Douglas obeyed, carrying the girl out of the room, across the small landing, and into the room opposite.

  ‘I am going to lock you in here for a few seconds,’ muttered Mr Clitheroe. ‘It will be safest—for Miss Sherwin, remember! We must think of her safety above all things.’

  The young man made no protest. Initiative, a quality in which he was never too prolific, had departed from him. He was vaguely conscious of the old man’s withdrawal from the room, and he heard, dully, the sound of the key being turned in the lock…

  Back in the front room, Mr Clitheroe’s manner changed.

  ‘Quick!’ he barked, to the figure on the floor. ‘Get up!’

  Wharton sprang to his feet.

  ‘Worked all right, eh?’ chuckled Wharton hoarsely.

  ‘Damn it, no!’ retorted Mr Clitheroe. ‘That blasted tramp’s seen us!’

  ‘What!’ gasped Wharton.

  ‘Seen us! Seen us! Seen us!’ hissed Mr Clitheroe. ‘Go across and settle him!’

  ‘Hell, I will!’ exclaimed Wharton.

  In spite of his urgent hurry, however, Wharton paused at the door.

  ‘Can you manage alone?’ he asked, with a look towards the cupboard.

  ‘Yes, yes!’ answered Mr Clitheroe. ‘I’ve got to, haven’t I? Get on with it!’

  Wharton disappeared. The old man scowled after him, then turned to the cupboard, and brought out a key. A couple of seconds later he had opened the cupboard, and a figure stared unseeingly at him. The figure was sitting on the ground, propped up against one of the walls. Scarcely less grim than the figure was the old man’s callous acceptance of its presence.