CHAPTER II
THE HORROR OF THE HANSOM
Wrayson sat up with a sudden and violent start. His pipe had fallen on tothe floor, leaving a long trail of grey ash upon his waistcoat andtrousers. The electric lights were still burning, but of the fire nothingremained but a pile of ashes. As soon as he could be said to be consciousof anything, he was conscious of two things. One was that he wasshivering with cold, the other that he was afraid.
Wrayson was by no means a coward. He had come once or twice in his lifeinto close touch with dangerous happenings, and conducted himself withaverage pluck. He never attempted to conceal from himself, however, thatthese few minutes were minutes of breathless, unreasoning fear. His heartwas thumping against his side, and the muscles at the back of his neckwere almost numb as he slowly looked round the room. His eyes paused atthe door. It was slightly open, to his nervous fancy it seemed to beshaking. His teeth chattered, he felt his forehead, and it was wet.
He rose to his feet and listened. There was no sound anywhere, from aboveor below. He tried to remember what it was that had awakened him sosuddenly. He could remember nothing except that awful start. Somethingmust have disturbed him! He listened again. Still no sound. He drew alittle breath, and, with his eyes glued upon the half-closed door,recollected that he himself had left it open that he might hear Barnes goupstairs. With a little laugh, still not altogether natural, he moved tothe spirit decanter and drank off half a wineglassful of neat whisky!
"Nerves," he said softly to himself. "This won't do! What an idiot I wasto go to sleep there!"
He glanced at the clock. It was five minutes to three. Then he movedtowards the door, and stood for several moments with the handle in hishand. Gradually his confidence was returning. He listened attentively.There was not a sound to be heard in the entire building. He turned backinto the room with a little sigh of relief.
"Time I turned in," he muttered. "Wonder if that's rain."
He lifted the blind and looked out. A few stars were shining still in amisty sky, but a bank of clouds was rolling up and rain was beginning tofall. The pavements were already wet, and the lamp-posts obscured. He wasabout to turn away when a familiar, but unexpected, sound from the streetimmediately below attracted his notice. The window was open at the top,and he had distinctly heard the jingling of a hansom bell.
He threw open the bottom sash and leaned out. A hansom cab was waiting atthe entrance to the flats. Wrayson glanced once more instinctivelytowards the clock. Who on earth of his neighbours could be keeping a cabwaiting outside at that hour in the morning? With the exception of Barnesand himself, they were most of them early people. Once more he looked outof the window. The cabman was leaning forward in his seat with his headresting upon his folded arms. He was either tired out or asleep. Theattitude of the horse was one of extreme and wearied dejection. Wraysonwas on the point of closing the window when he became aware for the firsttime that the cab had an occupant. He could see the figure of a manleaning back in one corner, he could even distinguish a white-gloved handresting upon the apron. The figure was not unlike the figure of Barnes,and Barnes, as he happened to remember, always wore white gloves in theevening. Barnes it probably was, waiting--for what? Wrayson closed thewindow a little impatiently, and turned back into the room.
"Barnes and his friends can go to the devil," he muttered. "I amoff to bed."
He took a couple of steps across the room, and then stopped short. Thefear was upon him again. He felt his heart almost stop beating, a coldshiver shook his whole frame. He was standing facing his half-open door,and outside on the stone steps he heard the soft, even footfall ofslippered feet, and the gentle rustling of a woman's gown.
He was not conscious of any movement, but when she reached the landing hewas standing there on the threshold, with the soft halo of light frombehind shining on to his white, fiercely questioning face. She cametowards him without speech, and her veil was lowered so that he couldonly imperfectly see her face, but she walked as one newly recovered fromillness, with trembling footsteps, and with one hand always upon thebanisters. When she reached the corner she stopped, and seemed about tocollapse. She spoke to him, and her voice had lost all its quality. Itsounded harsh and unreal.
"Why are you--spying on me?" she asked.
"I am not spying," he answered. "I have been asleep--and woke upsuddenly."
"Give me--some brandy!" she begged.
She stood upon the threshold and drank from the wineglass which hehad filled. When she gave it back to him, he noticed that her fingerswere steady.
"Will you come downstairs and let me out?" she asked. "I have lookeddown and it is all dark on the ground floor. I am not sure that Iknow my way."
He hesitated, but only for a moment. Side by side they walked down fourflights of steps in unbroken silence. He asked no question, she attemptedno explanation. Only when he opened the door and she saw the waitinghansom she very nearly collapsed. For a moment she clung to him.
"He is there--in the cab," she moaned. "Where can I hide?"
"Whoever it is," Wrayson answered, with his eyes fixed upon the hansom,"he is either drunk or asleep."
"Or dead!" she whispered in his ear. "Go and see!"
Then, before Wrayson could recover from the shock of her words, she wasgone, flitting down the unlit side of the street with swift silentfootsteps. His eyes followed her mechanically. Then, when she had turnedthe corner, he crossed the pavement towards the cab. Even now he couldsee little of the figure in the corner, for his silk hat was drawn downover his eyes.
"Is that you, Barnes?" he asked.
There came not the slightest response. Then for the first time thehideous meaning of those farewell words of hers broke in upon his brain.Had she meant it? Had she known or guessed? He leaned forward andtouched the white-gloved hand. He raised it and let go. It fell like adead, inert thing. He stepped back and confronted the cabman, who wasrubbing his eyes.
"There's something wrong with your fare, cabby," he said.
The cabby raised the trap door, looked down, and descended heavily on tothe pavement.
"Well, I'm blowed!" he said. "Here, wake up, guv'nor!"
There was no response. The cabby threw open the apron of the cab andgently shook the recumbent figure.
"I can't wait 'ere all night for my fare!" he exclaimed. "Wake up, Godluv us!" he broke off.
He stepped hastily back on to the pavement, and began tugging at one ofhis lamps.
"Push his hat back, sir," he said. "Let's 'ave a look at 'im."
Wrayson stood upon the step of the cab and lifted the silk hat from thehead of the recumbent figure. Then he sprang back quickly with a littleexclamation of horror. The lamp was shining full now upon the man's face,livid and white, upon his staring but sightless eyes, upon somethingaround his neck, a fragment of silken cord, drawn so tightly that theflesh seemed to hang over and almost conceal it.
"Throttled, by God!" the cabman exclaimed. "I'm off to the policestation."
He clambered up to his seat, and without another word struck his horsewith the whip. The cab drove off and disappeared. Wrayson turned slowlyround, and, closing the door of the flats, mounted with leaden feet tothe fourth story.
He entered his own rooms, and walked without hesitation to the window,which was still open. The fresh air was almost a necessity, for he felthimself being slowly stifled. His knees were shaking, a cold icy horrorwas numbing his heart and senses. A feeling of nightmare was upon him, asthough he had risen unexpectedly from a bed of delirium. There in frontof him, a little to the left, was the broad empty street amongst whoseshadows she had disappeared. On one side was the Park, and there wasobscurity indefinable, mysterious; on the other a long row of tallmansions, a rain-soaked pavement, and a curving line of gas lamps.Beyond, the river, marked with a glittering arc of yellow dots; furtheraway the glow of the sleeping city. Shelter enough there for anyone--even for her. A soft, damp breeze was blowing in his face; fromamongst the dripping trees of the Park t
he birds were beginning to maketheir morning music. Already the blackness of night was passing away, theclouds were lightening, the stars were growing fainter. Wrayson leaned alittle forward. His eyes were fixed upon the exact spot where she hadcrossed the road and disappeared. All the horror of the coming day andthe days to come loomed out from the background of his thoughts.
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