CHAPTER V
His daughter heard these words with a sinking heart. She had a mostunhappy picture of herself boarding a ship and sailing out of Liverpoolor Southampton, leaving the mystery that so engrossed her thoughtsforever unsolved. Wisely she diverted her father's thoughts towardthe question of food. She had heard, she said, that Simpson's, in theStrand, was an excellent place to dine. They would go there, and walk.She suggested a short detour that would carry them through AdelphiTerrace. It seemed she had always wanted to see Adelphi Terrace.
As they passed through that silent Street she sought to guess, from aninspection of the grim forbidding house fronts, back of which lay thelovely garden, the romantic mystery. But the houses were so very muchlike one another. Before one of them, she noted, a taxi waited.
After dinner her father pleaded for a music-hall as against what hecalled "some highfaluting, teacup English play." He won. Late thatnight, as they rode back to the Carlton, special editions were beingproclaimed in the streets. Germany was mobilizing!
The girl from Texas retired, wondering what epistolary surprise themorning would bring forth. It brought forth this:
DEAR DAUGHTER OF THE SENATE: Or is it Congress? I could not quitedecide. But surely in one or the other of those august bodies yourfather sits when he is not at home in Texas or viewing Europe throughhis daughter's eyes. One look at him and I had gathered that.
But Washington is far from London, isn't it? And it is London thatinterests us most--though father's constituents must not know that. Itis really a wonderful, an astounding city, once you have got the feel ofthe tourist out of your soul. I have been reading the most enthrallingessays on it, written by a newspaper man who first fell desperatelyin love with it at seven--an age when the whole glittering town wassymbolized for him by the fried-fish shop at the corner of the HighStreet. With him I have been going through its gray and furtivethoroughfares in the dead of night, and sometimes we have kicked anash-barrel and sometimes a romance. Some day I might show that Londonto you--guarding you, of course, from the ash-barrels, if you are thatkind. On second thoughts, you aren't. But I know that it is of AdelphiTerrace and a late captain in the Indian Army that you want to hear now.Yesterday, after my discovery of those messages in the Mail and the callof Captain Hughes, passed without incident. Last night I mailed you mythird letter, and after wandering for a time amid the alternate glareand gloom of the city, I went back to my rooms and smoked on my balconywhile about me the inmates of six million homes sweltered in the heat.Nothing happened. I felt a bit disappointed, a bit cheated, as one mightfeel on the first night spent at home after many successive visits toexciting plays. To-day, the first of August dawned, and still all wasquiet. Indeed, it was not until this evening that further developmentsin the sudden death of Captain Fraser-Freer arrived to disturb me. Thesedevelopments are strange ones surely, and I shall hasten to relate them.
I dined to-night at a little place in Soho. My waiter was Italian, andon him I amused myself with the Italian in Ten Lessons of which I amfoolishly proud. We talked of Fiesole, where he had lived. Once I rodefrom Fiesole down the hill to Florence in the moonlight. I rememberendless walls on which hung roses, fresh and blooming. I remember agaunt nunnery and two-gray-robed sisters clanging shut the gates.I remember the searchlight from the military encampment, playingconstantly over the Arno and the roofs--the eye of Mars that, here inEurope, never closes. And always the flowers nodding above me, stoopingnow and then to brush my face. I came to think that at the end Paradise,and not a second-rate hotel, was waiting. One may still take that ride,I fancy. Some day--some day--
I dined in Soho. I came back to Adelphi Terrace in the hot, reekingAugust dusk, reflecting that the mystery in which I was involved was,after a fashion, standing still. In front of our house I noticed a taxiwaiting. I thought nothing of it as I entered the murky hallway andclimbed the familiar stairs.
My door stood open. It was dark in my study, save for the reflection ofthe lights of London outside. As I crossed the threshold there came tomy nostrils the faint sweet perfume of lilacs. There are no lilacs inour garden, and if there were it is not the season. No, this perfume hadbeen brought there by a woman--a woman who sat at my desk and raised herhead as I entered.
"You will pardon this intrusion," she said in the correct carefulEnglish of one who has learned the speech from a book. "I have come fora brief word with you--then I shall go."
I could think of nothing to say. I stood gaping like a schoolboy.
"My word," the woman went on, "is in the nature of advice. We do notalways like those who give us advice. None the less, I trust that youwill listen."
I found my tongue then.
"I am listening," I said stupidly. "But first--a light--" And I movedtoward the matches on the mantelpiece.
Quickly the woman rose and faced me. I saw then that she wore aveil--not a heavy veil, but a fluffy, attractive thing that was yetsufficient to screen her features from me.
"I beg of you," she cried, "no light!" And as I paused, undecided, sheadded, in a tone which suggested lips that pout: "It is such a littlething to ask--surely you will not refuse."
I suppose I should have insisted. But her voice was charming, her mannerperfect, and that odor of lilacs reminiscent of a garden I knew longago, at home.
"Very well," said I.
"Oh--I am grateful to you," she answered. Her tone changed. "Iunderstand that, shortly after seven o'clock last Thursday evening, youheard in the room above you the sounds of a struggle. Such has been yourtestimony to the police?"
"It has," said I.
"Are you quite certain as to the hour?" I felt that she was smiling atme. "Might it not have been later--or earlier?"
"I am sure it was just after seven," I replied. "I'll tell you why: Ihad just returned from dinner and while I was unlocking the door Big Benon the House of Parliament struck--"
She raised her hand.
"No matter," she said, and there was a touch of iron in her voice."You are no longer sure of that. Thinking it over, you have come to theconclusion that it may have been barely six-thirty when you heard thenoise of a struggle."
"Indeed?" said I. I tried to sound sarcastic, but I was really tooastonished by her tone.
"Yes--indeed!" she replied. "That is what you will tell Inspector Braywhen next you see him. 'It may have been six-thirty,' you will tell him.'I have thought it over and I am not certain.'"
"Even for a very charming lady," I said "I can not misrepresent thefacts in a matter so important. It was after seven--"
"I am not asking you to do a favor for a lady," she replied. "I amasking you to do a favor for yourself. If you refuse the consequencesmay be most unpleasant."
"I'm rather at a loss--" I began.
She was silent for a moment. Then she turned and I felt her looking atme through the veil.
"Who was Archibald Enwright?" she demanded. My heart sank. I recognizedthe weapon in her hands. "The police," she went on, "do not yet knowthat the letter of introduction you brought to the captain was signed bya man who addressed Fraser-Freer as Dear Cousin, but who is completelyunknown to the family. Once that information reaches Scotland Yard, yourchance of escaping arrest is slim.
"They may not be able to fasten this crime upon you, but there will becomplications most distasteful. One's liberty is well worth keeping--andthen, too, before the case ends, there will be wide publicity--"
"'Well?" said I.
"That is why you are going to suffer a lapse of memory in the matter ofthe hour at which you heard that struggle. As you think it over, itis going to occur to you that it may have been six-thirty, not seven.Otherwise--"
"Go on."
"Otherwise the letter of introduction you gave to the captain will besent anonymously to Inspector Bray."
"You have that letter!" I cried.
"Not I," she answered. "But it will be sent to Bray. It will be pointedout to him that you were posing under false colors. You could notescape!"
; I was most uncomfortable. The net of suspicion seemed closing in aboutme. But I was resentful, too, of the confidence in this woman's voice.
"None the less," said I, "I refuse to change my testimony. The truth isthe truth--"
The woman had moved to the door. She turned.
"To-morrow," she replied, "it is not unlikely you will see InspectorBray. As I said, I came here to give you advice. You had better take it.What does it matter--a half-hour this way or that? And the difference isprison for you. Good night."
She was gone. I followed into the hall. Below, in the street, I heardthe rattle of her taxi.
I went back into my room and sat down. I was upset, and no mistake.Outside my windows the continuous symphony of the city played on--thebusses, the trains, the never-silent voices. I gazed out. What atremendous acreage of dank brick houses and dank British souls! I felthorribly alone. I may add that I felt a bit frightened, as though thatgreat city were slowly closing in on me.
Who was this woman of mystery? What place had she held in the life--andperhaps in the death--of Captain Fraser-Freer? Why should she comeboldly to my rooms to make her impossible demand?
I resolved that, even at the risk of my own comfort, I would stick tothe truth. And to that resolve I would have clung had I not shortlyreceived another visit--this one far more inexplicable, far moresurprising, than the first.
It was about nine o'clock when Walters tapped at my door and told metwo gentlemen wished to see me. A moment later into my study walkedLieutenant Norman Fraser-Freer and a fine old gentleman with a face thatsuggested some faded portrait hanging on an aristocrat's wall. I hadnever seen him before.
"I hope it is quite convenient for you to see us," said youngFraser-Freer.
I assured him that it was. The boy's face was drawn and haggard; therewas terrible suffering in his eyes, yet about him hung, like a halo, theglory of a great resolution.
"May I present my father?" he said. "General Fraser-Freer, retired. Wehave come on a matter of supreme importance--"
The old man muttered something I could not catch. I could see thathe had been hard hit by the loss of his elder son. I asked them to beseated; the general complied, but the boy walked the floor in a mannermost distressing.
"I shall not be long," he remarked. "Nor at a time like this is one inthe mood to be diplomatic. I will only say, sir, that we have come toask of you a great--a very great favor indeed. You may not see fit togrant it. If that is the case we can not well reproach you. But if youcan--"
"It is a great favor, sir!" broke in the general. "And I am in the oddposition where I do not know whether you will serve me best by grantingit or by refusing to do so."
"Father--please--if you don't mind--" The boy's voice was kindly butdetermined. He turned to me.
"Sir--you have testified to the police that it was a bit past seven whenyou heard in the room above the sounds of the struggle which--which--Youunderstand."
In view of the mission of the caller who had departed a scant hourpreviously, the boy's question startled me.
"Such was my testimony," I answered. "It was the truth."
"Naturally," said Lieutenant Fraser-Freer. "But--er--as a matter offact, we are here to ask that you alter your testimony. Could you, as afavor to us who have suffered so cruel a loss--a favor we should neverforget--could you not make the hour of that struggle half after six?"
I was quite overwhelmed.
"Your--reasons?" I managed at last to ask.
"I am not able to give them to you in full," the boy answered. "I canonly say this: It happens that at seven o'clock last Thursday night Iwas dining with friends at the Savoy--friends who would not be likely toforget the occasion."
The old general leaped to his feet.
"Norman," he cried, "I can not let you do this thing! I simply willnot--"
"Hush, father," said the boy wearily. "We have threshed it all out. Youhave promised--"
The old man sank back into the chair and buried his face in his hands.
"If you are willing to change your testimony," young Fraser-Freer wenton to me, "I shall at once confess to the police that it was I who--whomurdered my brother. They suspect me. They know that late last Thursdayafternoon I purchased a revolver, for which, they believe, at the lastmoment I substituted the knife. They know that I was in debt to him;that we had quarreled about money matters; that by his death I, and Ialone, could profit."
He broke off suddenly and came toward me, holding out his arms with apleading gesture I can never forget.
"Do this for me!" he cried. "Let me confess! Let me end this wholehorrible business here and now."
Surely no man had ever to answer such an appeal before.
"Why?" I found myself saying, and over and over I repeated it--"Why?Why?"
The lieutenant faced me, and I hope never again to see such a look in aman's eyes.
"I loved him!" he cried. "That is why. For his honor, for the honor ofour family, I am making this request of you. Believe me, it is not easy.I can tell you no more than that. You knew my brother?"
"Slightly."
"Then, for his sake--do this thing I ask."
"But--murder--"
"You heard the sounds of a struggle. I shall say that we quarreled--thatI struck in self-defense." He turned to his father. "It will mean onlya few years in prison--I can bear that!" he cried. "For the honor of ourname!"
The old man groaned, but did not raise his head. The boy walked backand forth over my faded carpet like a lion caged. I stood wondering whatanswer I should make.
"I know what you are thinking," said the lieutenant. "You can not credityour ears. But you have heard correctly. And now--as you might putit--it is up to you. I have been in your country." He smiled pitifully."I think I know you Americans. You are not the sort to refuse a man whenhe is sore beset--as I am."
I looked from him to the general and back again.
"I must think this over," I answered, my mind going at once to ColonelHughes. "Later--say to-morrow--you shall have my decision."
"To-morrow," said the boy, "we shall both be called before InspectorBray. I shall know your answer then--and I hope with all my heart itwill be yes."
There were a few mumbled words of farewell and he and the broken old manwent out. As soon as the street door closed behind them I hurried to thetelephone and called a number Colonel Hughes had given me. It was with afeeling of relief that I heard his voice come back over the wire. I toldhim I must see him at once. He replied that by a singular chance he hadbeen on the point of starting for my rooms.
In the half-hour that elapsed before the coming of the colonel I walkedabout like a man in a trance. He was barely inside my door when I beganpouring out to him the story of those two remarkable visits. He madelittle comment on the woman's call beyond asking me whether I coulddescribe her; and he smiled when I mentioned lilac perfume. At mentionof young Fraser-Freer's preposterous request he whistled.
"By gad!" he said. "Interesting--most interesting! I am not surprised,however. That boy has the stuff in him."
"But what shall I do?" I demanded.
Colonel Hughes smiled.
"It makes little difference what you do," he said. "Norman Fraser-Freerdid not kill his brother, and that will be proved in due time." Heconsidered for a moment. "Bray no doubt would be glad to have you alteryour testimony, since he is trying to fasten the crime on the younglieutenant. On the whole, if I were you, I think that when theopportunity comes to-morrow I should humor the inspector."
"You mean--tell him I am no longer certain as to the hour of thatstruggle?"
"Precisely. I give you my word that young Fraser-Freer will not bepermanently incriminated by such an act on your part. And incidentallyyou will be aiding me."
"Very well," said I. "But I don't understand this at all."
"No--of course not. I wish I could explain to you; but I can not. Iwill say this--the death of Captain Fraser-Freer is regarded as a mostsignificant thing by the War Office. Thus it happ
ens that two distincthunts for his assassin are under way--one conducted by Bray, the otherby me. Bray does not suspect that I am working on the case and I want tokeep him in the dark as long as possible. You may choose which of theseinvestigations you wish to be identified with."
"I think," said I, "that I prefer you to Bray."
"Good boy!" he answered. "You have not gone wrong. And you can do me aservice this evening, which is why I was on the point of coming here,even before you telephoned me. I take it that you remember and couldidentify the chap who called himself Archibald Enwright--the man whogave you that letter to the captain?"
"I surely could," said I.
"Then, if you can spare me an hour, get your hat."
And so it happens, lady of the Carlton, that I have just been toLimehouse. You do not know where Limehouse is and I trust you neverwill. It is picturesque; it is revolting; it is colorful and wicked. Theweird odors of it still fill my nostrils; the sinister portrait of it isstill before my eyes. It is the Chinatown of London--Limehouse. Downin the dregs of the town--with West India Dock Road for its spinalcolumn--it lies, redolent of ways that are dark and tricks that arevain. Not only the heathen Chinee so peculiar shuffles through itsdim-lit alleys, but the scum of the earth, of many colors and of manyclimes. The Arab and the Hindu, the Malayan and the Jap, black men fromthe Congo and fair men from Scandinavia--these you may meet there--theoutpourings of all the ships that sail the Seven Seas. There manydrunken beasts, with their pay in their pockets, seek each his favoritesin; and for those who love most the opium, there is, at all too regularintervals, the Sign of the Open Lamp.
We went there, Colonel Hughes and I. Up and down the narrow Causeway,yellow at intervals with the light from gloomy shops, dark mostlybecause of tightly closed shutters through which only thin jets foundtheir way, we walked until we came and stood at last in shadow outsidethe black doorway of Harry San Li's so-called restaurant. We waited ten,fifteen minutes; then a man came down the Causeway and paused beforethat door. There was something familiar in his jaunty walk. Then thefaint glow of the lamp that was the indication of Harry San's realbusiness lit his pale face, and I knew that I had seen him last inthe cool evening at Interlaken, where Limehouse could not have lived amoment, with the Jungfrau frowning down upon it.
"Enwright?" whispered Hughes.
"Not a doubt of it!" said I.
"Good!" he replied with fervor.
And now another man shuffled down the street and stood suddenly straightand waiting before the colonel.
"Stay with him," said Hughes softly. "Don't let him get out of yoursight."
"Very good, sir," said the man; and, saluting, he passed on up thestairs and whistled softly at that black depressing door.
The clock above the Millwall Docks was striking eleven as the coloneland I caught a bus that should carry us back to a brighter, happierLondon. Hughes spoke but seldom on that ride; and, repeating his advicethat I humor Inspector Bray on the morrow, he left me in the Strand.
So, my lady, here I sit in my study, waiting for that most important daythat is shortly to dawn. A full evening, you must admit. A woman withthe perfume of lilacs about her has threatened that unless I lie I shallencounter consequences most unpleasant. A handsome young lieutenant hasbegged me to tell that same lie for the honor of his family, and thuscondemn him to certain arrest and imprisonment. And I have beendown into hell, to-night and seen Archibald Enwright, of Interlaken,conniving with the devil.
I presume I should go to bed; but I know I can not sleep. To-morrowis to be, beyond all question, a red-letter day in the matter of thecaptain's murder. And once again, against my will, I am down to play aleading part.
The symphony of this great, gray, sad city is a mere hum in the distancenow, for it is nearly midnight. I shall mail this letter to you--postit, I should say, since I am in London--and then I shall wait in my dimrooms for the dawn. And as I wait I shall be thinking not always ofthe captain, or his brother, or Hughes, or Limehouse and Enwright, butoften--oh, very often--of you.
In my last letter I scoffed at the idea of a great war. But when wecame back from Limehouse to-night the papers told us that the Kaiser hadsigned the order to mobilize. Austria in; Serbia in; Germany, Russiaand France in. Hughes tells me that England is shortly to follow, andI suppose there is no doubt of it. It is a frightful thing--this futurethat looms before us; and I pray that for you at least it may hold onlyhappiness.
For, my lady, when I write good night, I speak it aloud as I write; andthere is in my voice more than I dare tell you of now.
THE AGONY COLUMN MAN.
Not unwelcome to the violet eyes of the girl from Texas were the lastwords of this letter, read in her room that Sunday morning. But thelines predicting England's early entrance into the war recalled to hermind a most undesirable contingency. On the previous night, when the warextras came out confirming the forecast of his favorite bootblack, herusually calm father had shown signs of panic. He was not a man slowto act. And she knew that, putty though he was in her hands in matterswhich he did not regard as important, he could also be firm where hethought firmness necessary. America looked even better to him thanusual, and he had made up his mind to go there immediately. There was nouse in arguing with him.
At this point came a knock at her door and her father entered. One lookat his face--red, perspiring and decidedly unhappy--served to cheer hisdaughter.
"Been down to the steamship offices," he panted, mopping his bald head."They're open to-day, just like it was a week day--but they might aswell be closed. There's nothing doing. Every boat's booked up to therails; we can't get out of here for two weeks--maybe more."
"I'm sorry," said his daughter.
"No, you ain't! You're delighted! You think it's romantic to get caughtlike this. Wish I had the enthusiasm of youth." He fanned himself with anewspaper. "Lucky I went over to the express office yesterday and loadedup on gold. I reckon when the blow falls it'll be tolerable hard to cashchecks in this man's town."
"That was a good idea."
"Ready for breakfast?" he inquired.
"Quite ready," she smiled.
They went below, she humming a song from a revue, while he glared ather. She was very glad they were to be in London a little longer. Shefelt she could not go, with that mystery still unsolved.
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