The Dumpling | Project Gutenberg (2024)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73740 ***

THE OPIUM DEN.

Copyright, 1906

By WILLIAM T. BELDING

NEW YORK

Copyright, 1907

B.W. DODGE AND COMPANY

NEW YORK

To

Lord and Lady Northcliffe:

WITH SINCERE REGARD.

29, Cannon Place,
Brighton
June 6th, 1906.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

In the Opium Den Frontispiece
"There peered through a broken pane ofglass ... the white and wicked faceof the Dumpling."
"The Dumpling was making a desperatedash for liberty"
"I fell back in incredulous horror"

THE DUMPLING.

PROLOGUE.

[Pg 1]

It was an impudent thing to do!

No matter how scorching the July sun, no matter how alluring thethought of paddling out to ascertain whether the richly woodedlake-side looked equally lovely from the water; no matter how cunninglyold Satan had spread his snare of mischief "for idle hands to do,"by guiding me to the very spot where the little boat lay moored atthe water's edge; no matter with what sophistry these, and many otherexcuses which I pleaded to a pricking conscience, seemed to mitigatethe offence, the fact remains that I acted in a way which was asimpudent as it was unpardonable.

The owner of the property generously allowed the public to use aparticular footpath through the park. Hence my offence in strayingfrom the permitted footpath and in exploring unpermitted copses andwoodlands,[Pg 2] until I came to this beautiful sheet of water, was for thatvery reason all the more graceless and heinous.

But in July, when the holiday spirit is in one's blood, and when allthe world is holiday-making with us, the conventionalities exist onlyto be set aside. Chaste matrons who, in chill December, would considerthat to exhibit more than two inches of stocking above the anklewould be to pass the high-water mark of propriety, and even, to savea new skirt from being muddied, would hesitate to hitch that garmenthigher by another inch, will, in demoralising July, discard these samestockings altogether, and disport and display themselves, knee-bare,with never a blush, upon the beach at Margate or at Brighton.

And I who, when in my proper mind and in dress-coated, white-chokeredgarb, would not so much as pass a lady in the stalls of a theatrewithout first apologising for troubling her and asking for herpermission, acted on this occasion, and under the demoralising spell ofholiday-making and midsummer madness, as any other bounder would acton a Bank Holiday. No hand had pulled aside the drawn lodge-blind[Pg 3] togaze at the intruder as I entered the park gates; no surly keeper hadpointed me to a notice board, warning all and sundry that the publicmust keep to the footpath, as I strolled along; no tradesman's cart hadrattled briskly up the drive to receive or to deliver orders; and whenbetween an avenue of trees I caught a glimpse of the house, it lookedso shuttered and sleepy, that I was persuaded "the family"—whoever thefamily might be—was away, and that none would come to warn me of mytrespass. Then the path I had taken, between the trees, had led me downto the water's edge and to the very spot where the boat lay moored.

Thrusting conscience and the conventionalities aside, I seated myselfand sculled lightly out to the middle of the lake. For a good half-hourI pulled hither and thither as my fancy prompted, and as the variousviews to be obtained from the water seemed most alluringly to open; andthen, shipping the sculls, I lay down full length in the bottom of theboat, my arm under my head as a pillow, and my face turned skyward tothe sun.

I suppose I must have dropped off into[Pg 4] a doze, from which I wasaroused by a slight rippling of the water. Being only half awake Idid not trouble myself greatly about the matter. "A swan passing," Imurmured sleepily; "or possibly a water-rat or moor-hen. Let 'em pass.They're quite welcome, and I'm too comfortable to stir."

But stirred I soon was, and to some purpose. Had my boat been lying atthe wooded lake-side, instead of in the centre of this beautiful sheetof water, I should have thought at first that a wind-blown branch ofJuly's own roses had dipped down to rest her unopened blossoms upon thefrail craft's side. For suddenly, upon the gunwale of the boat—just asif a handful of blush rose-buds had shyly peeped over—there appearedfour of the tiniest, daintiest, most exquisitely tapered finger-tipsthat ever were seen upon mortal hand. Pink, petite, faultlessly formedand finely proportioned, with pearly, oval nails, as symmetricallycut, as perfectly set and polished as rare opals, the finger-tips uponwhich I looked were so lovely that a king might have craved, as a royalboon, permission to stoop his lips to kiss them. In all the wide worldI was ready[Pg 5] to swear there was only one other set of finger-tips asbeautiful, and the very next instant that other set, like love-birdhastening to perch beside its mate, was laid upon the edge of the boat,which now began to rock sideways, as if someone in the water wereworking up impetus for a spring.

"Lazy bones! lazy bones! Wake up! wake up!" cried a merry voice; andthen—Venus rising from the foam was not half so beautiful—therebobbed up, framed in clinging golden hair, at the side of the boat, thefairest young face, the most lovely head and neck and shoulders I haveever seen.

My awakening had come; and the whole thing had happened so suddenlythat I do not know which of us was more surprised. All I do know isthat the shame and consternation on her face at seeing me were so comicthat, but for my anxiety to spare her blushes, I should have laughedoutright. Small time, however, had I to laugh; small time had she toblush; for, in her dismay, she suddenly let go her hold of the edge ofthe boat, which, released from her weight, rolled over like a turningporpoise, as neatly tilting me out of the other side and into the wateras if I had[Pg 6] been a left crust shaken out of an up-gathered tableclothby a housewife's hand.

That those who begin by playing the fool generally end by findingthe fat in the fire is proverbial. In making free with other folk'sproperty I had behaved not only like a fool, but like a mannerlessschoolboy; and now, if the fat could not exactly be said to be in thefire, the fool was undoubtedly in the water. Fortunately for thisparticular fool he happened to be an expert swimmer, or my sillyholiday escapade might have ended tragically for my fair capsizer aswell as for myself. She, however, showed herself as what, in sportingparlance, is known as "a good pluck'd 'un."

A moment's hysterical screaming and frantic beating of the water may bepassed by as no more than a concession to her sex, an acknowledgmentof a woman's weakness, and can in no way be said to detract from thecourage which she afterwards displayed. In the next instant she hadgrabbed me (somewhat painfully for me, I admit) by the hair, andmanfully—if I may use that word of a woman—raising my head out of thewater, had gasped agitatedly, "Can you swim?"

[Pg 7]

I do not deny that I behaved abominably. I was already as over head andeyes in love with this peerless Lady of the Lake as I had a moment agobeen over head and ears in water; and to swim unromantically ashore,there perhaps to be handed over to the care of the local constable,with the prospect of being brought up before my fair capsizer's father(who was very possibly a magistrate) as a common trespasser, if not asa common thief, did not appeal to me as either romantic or as likelyto further my suit. But to appear to owe my life to her, to be in aposition to hail her as a heroine and as my preserver, and myselfhenceforth and for ever her grateful and adoring slave, who, even ifhe devoted all his remaining years to her service, could never hope torepay her for thus snatching him from a watery grave—to do this wasto put myself in a very different light. Were I to admit that I couldswim, she would, without the shadow of a doubt, haughtily point me inone direction, while she with equal haughtiness would swim away in theother. But to proclaim myself no swimmer, and consequently helpless,would constitute an appeal to her womanhood which she,[Pg 8] being clearlyan expert in the water, could not and would not refuse. To do so wouldat once establish a relationship between us more intimate than I couldhope to attain in a twelvemonth spent or misspent in meeting her ather own home (even could I get invited there), or at the houses ofmutual acquaintances, supposing such mutual acquaintances to exist.Frankly, I would have pawned my soul for another five minutes in hercompany. To speak the unpalatable truth meant that the five minuteswould undoubtedly be denied me;—meant that she and I must part, neverperhaps to meet again. To lie, meant not only making that coveted fiveminutes my own, but possibly meant more—immeasurably, infinitely more,than this. The thought of what that lie might mean, might win for me,turned my love-sick soul well-nigh delirious. It might mean (andto one man, at least, on earth Paradise seemed possible again) thata hand so soft, so delicate that I could have crushed a dozen suchhands in my own huge grasp as easily as one crumples up a score ofrose-leaves, yet so fateful for all its feebleness that, even as easilyas one could crush the rose-leaves, so more easily[Pg 9] could that tinyhand crush and kill the joy which was upspringing in my heart;—a handso small that it could not span the half of my wrist, yet could holdthe whole of my hopes and my heaven—a lie might mean that this tinyhand would for full five paradisiacal minutes be given into my care andkeeping, while its owner should be my guardian angel, a wingless angelin a bathing dress, to guide me safely ashore!

Which was it to be—Truth or Falsehood?

"Speak the truth and you'll shame the Devil!" thundered Duty.

"Tell a falsehood, and you won't make a fool of yourself," whisperedDesire.

Unhesitatingly I plumped for falsehood.

"I can't swim a stroke," I said.

We got ashore—or nearly so, at least; and that I in no way assistedto accelerate the journey will be plain, as the phrase goes, to themeanest intelligence.

But sit down in cold blood—if not, fortunately as I was then, in wetclothes—to describe that elysian passing, I may not.

Spirit readers of mine—if spirit readers of mortal book there be—whohave been[Pg 10] borne on angel pinions to heaven, may be able to enter intomy feelings at being thus wafted through magic waters by an angel hand.Gross mortals of flesh and blood may not. But spirit readers have thisadvantage over me—that whereas they, at the end of their journey,saw the gates of Heaven open, I, at the end of mine, saw the gates ofParadise too rudely closed.

When we were some ten yards from the shore, and while I was rehearsingto myself the touching scene of our landing—I falling on my kneesbefore her, and, in a voice which I intended doing my best to makeappear broken with emotion, calling the heavens to witness that butfor her I should now be weltering in my grave (I was not exactly surewhat "weltering" meant, but it sounded wet and weedy and watery, and,as Milton had used the word in a similar sense, it could not be farwrong)—she, her beautiful eyes suffused with tears, one or two ofwhich, I arranged, should drop upon my upturned worshipping face,would then bend over me and, laying a hand tenderly on my head, wouldsob, "My poor fellow! Do not give way. You are safe. The danger ispast!"—while I was rehearsing this[Pg 11] pretty and touching picture, shesuddenly stopped. Thus far she had been swimming, and swimming stronglyon her breast, striking out with her left arm and supporting my headwith her right. Now, as I say, she stopped, and I feared that she wasbecoming exhausted.

"Put down your feet," she said, "and see if you can feel the ground."

I did so, and found that we were in water sufficiently shallow to allowme to stand upright with my chin well above the surface.

"Yes," I said, "we're safe. My feet are on the ground. How can I everthank you? How can——"

"Then wade the rest of the way," she cut me short, cruelly. "Don'ttrespass any more! Don't take boats that don't belong to you, and don'tget out of your depth again until you have learned to swim."

The next instant she had dived under and was gone, the flick of hertiny heels, as they came together when she threw them up, seeming likethe snap of a derisive finger in my face.

Feeling, and looking, more foolish than I remember ever to have feltand looked[Pg 12] before, I waded clumsily to the bank, telling myself,by way of comfort, that her curt dismissal and her sharp words werethe result only of the inevitable reaction which comes after a timeof tension and nerve strain. But from a clump of rushes, behindwhich I had reason to think my late rescuer lay hidden, came a soundsuspiciously like suppressed laughter; and in somewhat of a temper—forno one likes to be ridiculed by a beautiful woman—I clambered up thebank, an ungainly figure, on all fours.

Again came that rippling music from behind the rushes; so, with a veryscarlet face, and with as upright a carriage of head and body as Icould assume—a carriage, which I may say for the benefit of the readerwas intended to express wounded dignity, but which I had a sneakingsuspicion savoured more of self-conscious stiffness and injuredpride—I walked angrily away, some verses by Austin Dobson running inmy head:

"And that's how I lost her—a jewel,
Incognita—one in a crowd,
Nor prudent enough to be cruel,
Nor worldly enough to be proud."

"Only my Incognita," I said to myself[Pg 13] as I entered the hotel,"is 'prudent enough to be cruel' and 'worldly enough to be proud.'Never mind! I've found her, and by heaven! if mortal man can do it,I'll win her yet. How lovely she looked! How divinely lovely! And wasthere ever a woman since the world began with such beautiful hands?"

At this point my meditations were interrupted by the entrance of thewaiter with an express letter in his hand for me, marked "Very Urgent."

It was from the editor of the Charing Cross Magazine.

"H'm!" I said to myself, twiddling the letter between my fingers. "Whata nuisance! I shall never rest till I have found out all about my Ladyof the Lake, and[Pg 14] I meant to have begun investigations this very night.But a poor devil of a writer of magazine articles and detective storiescan't afford to offend the powers that be—especially so influential aneditor as Harrison, or so wealthy a proprietor as Waldorf. So to LondonI must go, worse luck: to London I must go!"

Within half an hour I had changed my clothes, packed, paid my bill, andwas in the train.

"Good-bye, my lovely Lady Disdain, my dear and lovely Lady of theLake," I said, kissing my hand in the direction of my late escapade, aswe puffed out of the station; "or rather au revoir, for soon,very soon, we shall meet again."

THE OPIUM DEN.

I did not half like the look of things.

Of the two Chinamen who were placidly smoking opium in a corner of theopium den I had no fear. Though their bodies lay immovable as logs, theeyes of these Chinamen turned continually in their sockets, followingmy movements about the room. But they were merely idly curious, notthreatening, in the intentness of their stare. They reminded me ofpigs lolling on a muck-heap in the sunshine, too lazy to move, toolazy almost to blink, but keeping meanwhile a watchful eye upon themovements of an intrusive terrier.

What I did not like was the curious behaviour of the half-dozen menwhom I had found knocking their heads together in a corner when I hadentered. My appearance upon the scene had caused them to start apart soguiltily that I was convinced the conference they were holding was forno good purpose; and when, after a few whispered[Pg 16] words, two of themstole softly out, and stationed themselves at the foot of the staircaseas if to cut off my retreat, while two others got between me and thedoor, I could not but feel uneasy.

The two who remained—one of whom seemed to be the leader of thegang—were now holding a conference, the subject of which was evidentlymyself, and, judging by the lowering looks they cast in my direction,they were not about to move a resolution according me a vote of welcome.

On my road from Poplar Station to Limehouse Causeway I had not passeda single policeman, and no one, except the old negro to whom I hadoffered a couple of shillings if he would take me to a place where they"smoked the opium," had seen me enter the house. Accepting my offer, hehad turned at right angles out of Limehouse Causeway, and walked forsome distance till we came to a narrow court.

Out of this he had piloted me at right angles into another narrowerand quite unlighted court, blocked up at the end by lath palings, andso forming a cul-de-sac. At the darkest and farthest corner hehad stopped in front of what appeared to be[Pg 17] an unlighted house, andpushing open a door which led into a dark and evil-smelling passage,had said: "In thar, sah!" had spat upon and pocketed my florin, andtaken himself off.

I entered, and encountering no one, groped my way along the passageuntil it ended at a closed door, with a staircase immediately on theright. In my groping I chanced to put my fingers upon the handle.Turning it, I pushed open the door, and found myself in what seemedlike a disused kitchen. There was a dresser along one side, and acopper for boiling clothes stood in a corner. The only light came froma small window opening upon a yard, and as the room was practicallyempty and unfurnished, I tiptoed out, and, closing the door silently,made my way up the staircase to the first landing. Here were two doors,under each of which a chink of feeble light was to be seen. I knockedat the nearest door, and receiving no answer, turned the handle. Itwas locked, but a scuffling noise within, and the prompt extinguishingof the light, told me that the room was not untenanted. Knocking atthe second door, a gruff voice commended me so whole-heartedly and[Pg 18]enthusiastically to the care and protection of one who, in politecircles, goes generally unmentioned, that, not desiring the furtheracquaintance of the party or parties on the other side of the door, Icontinued my way upstairs.

On the second landing was a window, immediately below which was thesmall walled-in yard that I had seen from the kitchen, and beyond thisa patch of waste land. Just then the moon, which, like a cruiser with"lights down," had been gliding silently and unseen across the dark seaof the sky, came out for a moment from behind the clouds to sweep hersearchlight over this enclosed patch of ground, as over alien waters;and, in the white surprise of the searchlight, I saw that dead cats,cabbage stalks, and offal of all sorts were rotting and festering onthe unsavoury spot, and that beyond, on the other side of a dilapidatedfence, was the river.

"From the point of view of a criminal," I said to myself, "thisstaircase offers unique advantages. For the committal of a crime, here,surely, is a vantage ground which is ideal and ready-made to hand. Astranger, ascending the staircase, as I am, in the[Pg 19] dark, could beknocked on the head with impunity, and nobody be the wiser. Under coverof night, the body could be dropped out of the window, conveyed acrossthat fever-breeding piece of waste land, and hoisted over yonder fenceinto the river. In an hour a corpse would be borne miles away from thescene of the crime, leaving never so much as a trace behind to tellhow, and by whose hand, it came there."

The thought was not reassuring; and when, the next instant, I arrivedat the topmost landing, and, on opening a door and entering the den,saw two evil-looking rascals hurry out to cut off my retreat by thestaircase, while two others got between me and the door, as alreadydescribed, I began to realise that the hospitality which seemed likelyto be pressed upon me would not be of the nature of an invitation tostay to tea.

Just at this moment I was aware of a dull noise in the distance. Therewas a slight but ever-increasing vibration in the boards beneath me,a gathering rumble and roll as of approaching thunder, and with ahoarsely discordant shriek, an ear-splitting babel-tumult and roar,which seemed to[Pg 20] shake the house to its foundations, an express trainhurtled by, almost outside the very windows.

Under the present condition of electric communication, and with noapparatus, the sending of a telephonic message for help to the policeoffice would have been scarcely less impossible of accomplishment thanmaking known my present danger to anyone on board the train; yet sounreasoning are we in the causes which arouse or allay our nervousness,that the consciousness of my near presence to the railway did more tobolster up my courage than all my philosophy. "With the trains andtheir living freights so near at hand, I don't feel altogether cut offfrom the outside world," I said to myself; and as the two men in thecorner were still whispering together, I plucked up heart to take stockof my surroundings.

The den was lit by a single paraffin lamp, to the unassisted industryof which I was at first inclined to ascribe the vile atmosphere of theplace.

"That light we see is burning in my hall.
How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world,"

says Portia. The light which I saw burning[Pg 21] in the den did not shedits beams very far; but in the matter of shedding smells in a world,nice or naughty, I judged its capacity at a low estimate as fortyhorse-power! An ordinary motor-car, in its most perfumed moments,leaves trailing clouds of glory and cherry blossom in its wake comparedto that lamp's distribution of oily odours on the atmosphere.

Add to this the insufferable and sickening stench of opium—a stenchwhich I can only compare to a choice blending of onions and badtobacco—and the reader will not wonder when I say that my stomachsignalled for full speed astern, by retching rebelliously under mybreast-bone.

Greasy as was the atmosphere, the dirty yellow distempering of thewalls was in places even greasier. The chief articles of furniture weretwo raised mattresses, the bare wall behind them being literally coatedwith dirt and grease, rubbed from the chaste persons and fastidiousclothes of many smokers. Above these mattresses a crudely coloured andrevolting representation of the Crucifixion was incontinently fastened,and upon the mattresses lay the Chinamen of whom I have already spoken.

[Pg 22]

Of the two men still whispering in the corner, the leader was ofsingular appearance. In figure he was dumpy and comfortably rounded,which was, I suppose, the reason of the nickname, "The Dumpling," whichI afterwards heard applied to him. His neck was so short, and his hugehead was set so closely upon his high shoulders, and thrust forwardso prominently, as almost to suggest the hunchback. But if the figurewas grotesque, the clean-shaven face was striking and powerful. It wasabsolutely grey in hue, like the face of a dead or dying man; but sofar from being spare and haggard, as one would have expected from sounhealthy and colourless a complexion, the face, like the neck, wasfull, and the features of the fleshly aquiline type. The forehead washigh and intellectual, but the eyes were his most singular feature.Accustomed as I am, as the phrase goes, "to read character," this manutterly baffled me, for the eyes of two totally different men lookedout from the same head. On the occasion of which I am speaking hiseyes, when they rested upon me, seemed the incarnation of all that iscunning, cruel, treacherous. Yet in the eyes of this same[Pg 23] man, as Icame to know him thereafter, I have seen the most singular and gentlemelancholy.

Even on this eventful evening, when I saw him at his worst, his eyes,as he turned from me to the fellow to whom he was speaking, and forwhom he seemed to entertain something like affection, softened as if inresponse to some inner workings of his mind, and I saw in their depthsa dumb, inarticulate look like that one sees sometimes in the eyes of adog.

As he was talking he turned suddenly—perhaps because of somethingwhich his companion had said—and looked me straight in the eyes. Ishall no doubt be laughed at when I say that I was suddenly seized bythe most singular sense of helplessness. My powers seemed paralysed attheir centre. Minded as I was to struggle or to cry out against theinfluence he was exerting upon me, I could do neither. Then—whetherthe result of mesmerism or of thought suggestion on his part, or of asort of second sight on mine, I cannot say; but I saw, as in a tableau,myself lying helpless upon my back, with this man kneeling on my chest,his eyes looking into mine as they were[Pg 24] looking now, and an upraisedknife in his hand.

What could it mean?

I am not a nervous, neurotic person, but a healthy, normal, open-airbeing, who has never dabbled in the mysteries of spiritualism,hypnotism, second-sight, or clairvoyance; nor had such tableaux as Isaw when looking into this man's eyes ever before presented themselvesto me.

For a moment he held me thus, and then there was the sound of a laugh.Whether it was the man then standing before me in the opium den whothus laughed, or whether it was the man I had seen kneeling on mychest, a knife in his hand and my life at his mercy, I do not know, andmatters nothing, for the face was the same. Then suddenly he turnedfrom me, another being altogether.

"No, don't, old man; think of the risk you run," I heard him say to hisfriend, laying a hand affectionately on the other's shoulder, thoseinscrutable eyes of his—all the cunning and cruelty gone—becomingliquid and appealing.

But to myself I said: "One day—perhaps within the next hour, perhaps[Pg 25]to-morrow, perhaps in the far future—this man, knife in hand, willkneel over my prostrate and helpless figure, as I saw him kneel justnow; and when that moment comes—come it to-night, to-morrow, or comeit ten years hence—one of us two must leap the barrier which fencesthis world from the next, ere he shall escape. Which of us two shall itbe? And when shall that moment come?"

As I so spoke the two men turned to me. Evidently they had arrivedat some decision, and that they meant to do me a mischief, if not tomurder me outright, I knew as surely as if someone had whispered theirplans in my ear. Once again their leader fixed me with his eyes. Onceagain I was conscious of the same strange feeling of helplessness;and once again figures shaped themselves before me as in a tableau.Two men were lying in wait on a dark staircase to brain yet anotherman—myself—as he groped his way out.

THE MAN WITH THE PICTURE-EYES.

"Good evening."

It was the leader of the gang who had spoken, smiling and rubbing hishands softly the one on the other, as pleased, apparently, as anypurring cat.

"Good evening," I responded curtly.

"May we ask to what we owe the pleasure of your presence here?" hecontinued suavely, but watching me closely meanwhile.

"My presence here?" I said, as if surprised by the question. "Whyshouldn't I come here, any more than you? It is a public place, isn'tit? And I came here to smoke opium, as you and your friends have done,I suppose; just as one goes to a tavern for a glass of beer."

"Not at all," he replied. "This is a private house, just as much asyour own house is, and you have no more right to force your way intoit, than I have to force myself into yours. You stand in the positionof a trespasser. For all I know to the contrary,[Pg 27] you may even be whatin America they call an area sneak-thief, except for the fact that youhave sneaked your way to the top of the house instead of to the area.May I ask who directed you here? I must ask, for I insist uponhaving an answer."

"'Must' and 'insist' are not palatable words or pleasant," I said; "butI don't know that I have any objection to tell you. It was a negromatch-seller whom I saw outside Poplar Station. I offered him twoshillings if he would take me to an opium den, and it was to this househe led me."

"Ah! A negro match-seller, and outside Poplar Station. Oh, yes. I thinkI know the fellow. We must look into this."

He stopped to cast a sidelong glance at the other man, who nodded and,walking to the door, stood whispering to his two confederates outside.Fearing that they were planning to attack me from behind, I twisted myhead slightly so as to keep half an eye and the whole of an ear towardsthem, but not so much so as not to have the other eye open to anymovement of their leader, who was still in the room. As he was silent,I was now able to give both ears to[Pg 28] the whispering outside; but whatit was about I could not for all the sharpness of my hearing make out,except for the fact that I distinctly caught the words "Black Sam."

Then, greatly to my relief, the two men, with whom the fellow at thedoor was whispering, nodded and took their departure, clumping heavilydown the staircase to the second landing, to the first, and thence tothe door. Here I distinctly heard a sound as of the letting go of aspring latch, which in all probability locked the door from the inside.Then the door was banged to, as if to ensure that it was securelyshut; but even this did not satisfy them, for, if I were not very muchmistaken, they tried it, before leaving, by pushing heavily against itfrom the outside.

To know that the front door of the house was in all probability locked,and that, if my hosts and I came to hand-grips, my chances of escaping,by making a bolt for the street, were now cut off, was not reassuring.But I drew what consolation I could from the fact that the assailingforce by which I was surrounded was reduced from six to four—two inthe room and two[Pg 29] on the staircase outside; and so I put as bold aface as I could upon it when the man, who had been cross-examining me,opened fire once more, his companion standing meanwhile just inside thedoor.

"And now, sir," resumed the counsel for the prosecution, "that we knowto whom we are indebted for the pleasure of your company here, will yoube so very good as to tell us why you are here at all?"

Thus far I had told him the truth, and I saw no reason why I should notcontinue to do so. It was Lord Beaconsfield, I think, who said that,when he wished to mystify his opponents, he almost invariably did so bytelling them the truth. That being the last thing they expected fromhim, they would jump to the conclusion that the facts were the otherway about, and so go hopelessly wrong at the start.

My reasons for deciding to be frank were based upon no such subtlety.That I had, quite unintentionally, blundered into a den of criminals,seemed evident; and undoubtedly the next best thing to do was to getout. I am not, I hope, altogether a coward, but one man, caught as Iwas, like a rat in a trap, is no match for four, possibly for[Pg 30] six—forhow was I to know that the two who had been stationed outside thedoor, and had apparently departed upon some errand, might not return?I could not even be positive that they had not been told off to waitfor me in the dark court outside, so that in the event of my managingto escape unharmed from the house, they might prevent me from reachingthe street. In coming to the place at all, I had beyond question put myhead between the jaws of a lion; and the man who, with his head betweena lion's jaws, plays the fool by trying to twist the beast's tail, mustnot be surprised if, within the next two seconds, his own head be noton speaking, or even on nodding terms, with his own body.

"I don't mind telling you why I'm here," I said civilly. "Why should I?It is only because I have been asked to write an article on opium densfor the Charing Cross Magazine. The den I visited once before inRatcliff Highway has been pulled down, and a big Board School built onthe site. I knew that there were dens somewhere in the neighbourhood ofLimehouse Causeway, but I didn't know exactly where to find them, so Itook the train to Poplar, gave a[Pg 31] negro match-seller—who, I guessed,knew something of the locality—a couple of shillings to take me to'where they smoked the opium.' He brought me here, where I am, andwhere apparently I ought not to be, judging by what you say. If I haveintruded or trespassed, I'm sorry. So, with your kind permission, sir,I'll say 'Good evening' and take myself off."

"Stop a moment," he said, looking at me more amicably. "Yourexplanation is quite straightforward and satisfactory, and now thatyou've made it, I don't mind telling you the reason for what you musthave thought strange behaviour on our part.

"This place, as you see for yourself, is an opium den, and thesegentlemen," indicating the Chinamen on the mattresses, the two men atthe foot of the stairs, and his companion, "are sailors. Opium smokingis forbidden among sailors in the employ of English vessels, and wethought when you came in that you were an officer from one of thevessels, who had managed to find out the den, and had come here to makeyourself unpleasant. That is why I sent those men to guard the doorand the stairs. If you had been what we thought you—well,[Pg 32] I'm afraidyou'd have been rather roughly handled. We don't intend to allow ships'officers, or anyone else, to come here interfering with our pleasuresor with our takings, for, of course, we don't run the den out ofcharity. Now that I know it's all right, I'll just have a word with myfriends on the stairs, and tell them that they needn't stand on guardany more. They'll be glad to get away, for they are thirsty rascalsboth, and were just off for a drink when you came in."

Taking his companion by the arm, he walked out upon the landing, whereall four of them began whispering together.

Scarcely were they out of the room when, from the mattress where thetwo Chinamen lay, a single word, uttered softly, warningly, stealthily,almost in a whisper, under the breath, reached my ear.

It was my own Christian name, spoken in unmistakable English: "Max!"

THE LUCIFER THAT SAVED MY LIFE.

Surprised, not to say startled, I certainly was, and all the more sofor the reason that I recognised the voice of the speaker. It was thatof my long time friend and at one time colleague, Robert Grant, thedetective.

When I turned round—not suddenly or abruptly, for I feared to attractthe attention, possibly the suspicion, of the four men still whisperingon the landing—the two Chinamen were still sucking nonchalantly attheir flute-shaped opium pipes, and still eyeing me, as I have alreadysaid, as pigs, lying on a muck-heap in the sunshine, eye a terrier whohas entered their domain.

Stretching my arms, I affected to yawn, as if tired of waiting theresult of the conference outside. Then, hands deep in my trouserspockets, I slouched leisurely across the room and bent over theChinamen's mattress, as if to examine the picture of the[Pg 34] Crucifixionwhich was plastered on the wall above.

The nearer of the two Chinamen made a great pretence of puffing noisilyat his pipe, as if trying hard to prevent it from going out, butbetween each puff came a volley of whispered words in soft staccato:

"Make pretence to be friendly with them—disarm suspicion—but getaway—if they'll let you—go to police station—say it's me—arrest thelot. Look out—they're coming—go away!"

The "they" were the leader and the other man.

They now returned to the room, still whispering, and the two who hadbeen on guard at the head of the stairs, after noisily calling out"Good-night," made their way down, and so into the street, for we coulddistinctly hear them unlocking the door, which this time—as I did nothear it banged to—they had apparently left open.

"I don't think much of your Art Exhibition," I said, turning to theleader of the gang and jerking my thumb over my shoulder in thedirection of the hideous representation of the Crucifixion, at which Ihad made pretence to be looking. "It[Pg 35] reminds me of what I once said toa famous art critic and æsthete about a picture that hung in some cheapbachelor lodgings of mine.

"'I have a picture in my room,' I said to him, 'that will give youræsthetic senses a cold chill, not to say a shock. It's "Daniel in theLions' Den," done in chromo—four colours—and loud enough to win awhistling match.'

"'How terrible!' said my friend. 'But I can imagine something even moreterrible.'

"'What is it?' I inquired.

"'A poor lion in a den of Daniels,' was the reply."

I told this story, as the reader will have surmised, in pursuance ofGrant's advice to "make pretence to be friendly," and apparently it hadthe desired effect, for the leader of the gang seemed amused.

"I think I can place the man who said it," he said. "I used to meet himoften in Paris. No; we're not great on Art here, and that picture overthe couch is a terror. I've made it all right for you with my friends.Would you like to smoke a pipe of opium, now you're here? You can ifyou like."

"That's very kind of you, but I don't[Pg 36] think I'll stop to-night," Ireplied. "Fact is, you gave me a fright between you, for really Ithought you meant knocking me on the head."

He laughed.

"All right; come some other night, if you like. I'm sorry if wefrightened you, but of course we have to protect ourselves, and reallyI thought at first that you had come here to interfere with ourcustomers and with our business. But it is all right now, and if youwant to be off, we won't detain you. Good-night."

"Good-night," I answered pleasantly, glad to get away, and making forthe door. With my hand on the handle I turned and looked back. My latehost, the man whom I have called the leader, was standing—a sort ofpocket caricature of Napoleon—his hands behind his back, and hisshort legs straddled widely apart. His great head, resting almost onhis shoulders, was thrust forward, vulture-wise, the eyes glitteringvenomously out of the dead-white face. On the mattress behind him, thetwo men whom I had supposed to be Chinamen, but one of whom I now knewto be Detective Grant, pulled away at their pipes as nonchalantly asever, the ghastly[Pg 37] figure of the Crucified One stretching bare armsover them on the wall.

"Good-night," smiled the leader again. "Good-night, and bonvoyage."

I do not know why I shuddered—perhaps out of fear for Grant;perhaps at the thought of the sacred figure of the Saviour in suchsurroundings; perhaps merely because I was tired and overstrained.

But with the shudder shaking me, almost like an ague, I turned, closedthe door, and made my way down the stairs.

From the second landing window, the yard which lay immediatelyunderneath and the stretch of waste land beyond, looked moredarkly-desolate than ever. A single light on the far side of the rivermade a snake of fire, writhing and twisting as if in the throes oftorturing agony upon the water. Otherwise, nothing moved, nothingstirred.

Arrived at the first landing I saw that the chink of light from underthe two doors had gone, so that the stairs, leading down to the passageand to the kitchen door, were in absolute darkness. As I reached thebottom of the stairs and turned into the passage, I was immenselyrelieved to see that the front[Pg 38] door stood ajar, evidently as the twomen who had just gone out had left it. The whiff of outer air whichblew through the opening was infinitely sweet after the reek and stenchof opium in the den upstairs. My spirits rose at a bound. Surely I musthave been mistaken in thinking the house other than merely a place forthe smoking of opium. If anything illicit, anything in the nature ofcrime, were carried on here, the door would not have been left ajar,as I now found it, nor have been left unlatched and unlocked as it waswhen I had first come to the place.

All this went through my brain in a flash while my foot was between thelast step of the staircase and the passage floor. Then suddenly thepicture I had seen, when looking in the eyes of the leader of the gang,flashed before me—the picture of a man in a dark passage, as I at thatmoment was, and two other men waiting to brain him as he groped his wayout.

"It's precious dark here!" I said aloud as if to myself, and in themost unconcerned voice I could assume. "I must go carefully, for Inearly came a cropper over the break-neck stairs in going up."

[Pg 39]

Meanwhile, I had been feeling stealthily in my pocket for a match-box.

Ah! I had it!

Slipping out a vesta, I struck it sharply, and placing the palm of myopen hand between the flame and myself, so as to shade my own face andto cast what light there was in the direction of the door, I scannedthe passage as if I had of a sudden become all eyes. Stretched across,just where it would take me over the ankle and so cause me to stumbleforward, was a piece of wire. Behind the door, and with what lookedlike an iron bar, upraised ready to strike as I fell, was a man; and incase he failed to finish me, another—for I saw the white face of himpeeping through the chink of the partly opened door—stood outside. Andthen, as the light in my hand suddenly flickered and went out, I heardbehind me the stealthy steps of someone creeping down the stairs.

CRIMINALS, CHEMICALS, AND A CRUCIBLE.

Smoking may, as some good folk aver, be a vile and filthy habit, butit was the fact that I am a smoker which saved my life that night. Onmy way to the den I had fancied a pipe, and finding I had no matches,had been at the outlay of a penny in the purchase of a box. But for thefact that I happened to have these lucifers with me, and so was ableto obtain a light, I should have blundered into the trap that was socunningly set for me. But for the fact that, in the moment of strikingthe match, the light had fallen upon the kitchen door, and I had seenthat a key stood in the lock on the outside, I might never have neededpipe or matches more.

To remount the stairs would have been madness, for the four men—twoabove and two below—would thus have me at such disadvantage betweenthem, that my fight for life was likely to be short. To go forward,weaponless as I was, with two armed and[Pg 41] sturdy ruffians waiting forme at the street door and possibly with two others prepared to act asreinforcements outside—would have been equally mad, especially as theleader and his confederate were already almost on my heels, and socould knock me on the head from behind. But the key on the outside ofthe kitchen door offered me the chance at least of a fight for my life.Whisking it out, quicker than any conjuror, I threw open the door, andshutting it with a bang as I entered the kitchen, set my left knee andthe whole weight of my shoulders and body against the panels, while Islipped the key into its place, and, turning it, locked myself in, andmy opponents out.

The next moment I heard the voice of the leader on the stairs outside:

"What's that? Who's gone into the kitchen? You cursed bunglers! Don'tsay you haven't killed your man. He mustn't leave the place alive. It'sRobert Grant, the detective. I'd had word that he'd tracked us, andmeant trying to get in here to-night. Parker and Smudgy, fast as youcan to the yard. If you look slippy and put your back into it, you'llbe in time to cut off his escape, should he try to get out[Pg 42] behind. Ifhe does, kill him on the spot. No mistake about it this time, mind,even if you have to shoot! Now go. Joggers, you and I'll see to thingsthis side. First shut and lock the front door, and pocket the key.It'll be safer so. We've got to break in this door, and if he managedto rush us, he might slip past, and so get out. Have you got your knifeand revolver handy? Be ready to use 'em the instant the door's down."

Clearly I had no time to spare. Striking another vesta I took onelightning peep around. By the light I saw that what, when I had peepedinto the room before, I had taken to be an ordinary kitchen copper, wasa strange-looking vat, with something like a stove under it.

Opening a cupboard which the darkness had caused me to overlook on myprevious entrance, I saw that the top shelf was full of bottles, jars,and tins, all containing what I took to be chemicals. On the bottomshelf was something like a crucible, and beside it lay half a dozenmetal things shaped like neckless bottles, and reminding me a littleof artillery slugs. What did it all mean? Was I in a coiners' den—anillicit[Pg 43] distillery—an infernal machine factory? Ha! I must be off!Already someone was making frantic but systematic efforts to prise openthe door.

One more hurried glance around. Who knew but that I might light uponsomething in the nature of a clue to the mystery? No; that was all.Except for the things of which I have spoken, the place was absolutelyempty.

Stop a moment. What was that lying curled up in a corner? A cat—a dog?No; it was a fur cap.

Bang! They were trying to break open the door. The next instant I wasat the window. Screwed up, was it? No matter. Snatching up the fur capand twisting it around my fist that it might serve as a sort of bufferor boxing-glove, and so protect my hand from broken glass, I knockedout enough of the framework, and of the glass, to allow me to scramblethrough, with no more serious hurt than a few scratches and some rentsin my clothing. Within the next ten seconds I was across the yard, and,by the aid of an empty box, had scaled the wall, and was over on thewaste land. Here I stopped for an instant to take my bearings,[Pg 44] for atthat moment the inconsiderate moon broke out from behind the clouds,and with such brightness that I could scarcely hope to escape beingseen, and so would have been an easy target for a passable marksman.The piece of waste land was enclosed on my right and on my left bycorrugated zinc fences. I could easily have climbed them, but thescuffling and scraping of my feet and body against the metal would haveadvertised my whereabouts to the enemy; and by this time I knew thatthe two men, Smudgy and Parker, whom their leader had sent to cut offmy retreat, must be close at hand. Selecting the fence which cast thedarker shadow, I made straight for it, and then turning off at rightangles, I scuttled along half crouching, and keeping as close to coveras a mouse keeps to the wainscot when hieing him to his hole. I was nowgoing—and purposely—in the direction of the river, where the fencingwas of wood, not of metal, and so might be scaled less noiselessly.Moreover, two or three stunted trees threw ragged shadows across themoonlight in that quarter, and so might serve to screen me from mypursuers. Just as I reached these trees I heard voices on the[Pg 45] otherside, so I dropped like a dead thing in the shadow at the foot of thefence, and lay listening.

I was none too soon, for the next instant someone scrambled up on theother side of the fence, to spy out the land. For a moment I fearedthat I was discovered, though I dared not look up. I knew by the placefrom which the sound came that the speaker was exactly over my head.

"Can't see anything, Smudgy," the voice said. "But I can hear theDumpling breaking in the door. We'll hop over and make sure that Grantdoesn't get out by the window. You go one side of that iron fence andI'll go the other, and then, between us, we can't miss him if he comesout; but stay in the shadow till you get to the house.

"Keep your eyes skinned, for if we were to miss our man this time, theDumpling would be like a madman. Steady does it. Right O! But stop amoment. What's that in the shadow there, under the trees, just where Ijumped?"

A PAIR OF HANDCUFFS.

The fellow had walked some way in the direction of the house aftervaulting the fence, but now he turned and retraced his steps towardsthe spot where I was lying, with my legs drawn up to my body. As hestopped to bend over me, I let out with my left foot, as viciously as akicking horse, taking him in the stomach, and with such force that hedoubled up like a hinged draught-board, and lay quite still.

Then I leapt to my feet.

"Jones! Jim! Wilson!" I shouted, using, haphazard, the first nameswhich came to my tongue. "Here they are! Over the fence as fast as youcan, and we'll nab the two of 'em!"

As I spoke I kicked out a heel behind me, scraping it against the fenceas if someone were endeavouring to clamber up on the other side.

"Fast as you can!" I yelled again, making noise enough for three, andrushing[Pg 47] in the direction of the other man, shouting as I ran.

The dodge succeeded; for supposing, as I wished him to suppose, that hehad walked into a police ambush, he made a bolt for the house, I afterhim, still yelling imaginary instructions to imaginary men.

No sooner was he gone than I whipped back to the other fellow, who Isuppose had fainted from pain, for he lay quite still where he hadfallen. But he was armed, as I knew, for I had heard the leader tellthe two of them not to hesitate to shoot. I had run risks enough, andmore than enough for my liking, on this eventful evening; so, partlyto equip myself with a weapon, in case of the other man's discoveringmy ruse and returning, partly to disarm the gentleman on the ground,in the event of his recovering consciousness sufficiently to join inthe pursuit of me, I slipped my hand into his pocket in search offire-arms. The first thing on which I lighted was, strangely enough, apair of handcuffs, and, under the impulse of the moment, I snapped themaround the unconscious man's wrists. Then, having possessed myself ofhis weapon—an ugly revolver—I walked to[Pg 48] the fence and looked overit, in preparation to vault. The river washed almost to the fence'sfoot, and, but for the fact that a boat was fastened to a stake driveninto the mud, my retreat would have been entirely cut off. EvidentlyParker and Smudgy must have taken a boat from somewhere to get round tothe back of the place. That, then, was what the leader had meant whenhe spoke of the "yard," and had urged them to "put their backs into it."

Oh, well! the boat which had served their purpose would serve mine.But stop a minute. No one was coming from the house, where I couldstill hear the besiegers battering at the kitchen door. It was adaring idea, this of mine! But why shouldn't I carry it out? To takea prisoner, instead of myself being taken prisoner or being murdered,would be to turn the tables on my enemies with a vengeance. The man wasunconscious; he was handcuffed; and even if he proved to be heavy, Iknew myself to be fairly strong.

Kneeling on one knee, I raised his insensible body so that his headand chest and trunk lay inertly over my left shoulder,[Pg 49] where I couldbest bear the weight. The next thing to do was to get upon my feet.It was not easy of accomplishment, for the man was heavily built, andI, though tall, am somewhat slight. But I managed it at last, andstaggered to the fence, upon which I hoisted my burden, where he layfor all the world like a straw-stuffed Guy Fawkes, his silly head andhis body and shoulders lolling helplessly towards the river, his hipsand legs hanging down limply on the side of the fence that faced thehouse. Then I scrambled over myself, muttering, "You come along o' meto Westminster, my pretty. A man who can hang both sides of a fence, asyou can, is wasted outside of Parliament."

I hauled him over, a bit at a time, until at last I was able to lowerhim gently to the ground. Then I dragged him—through the water I amsorry to say—to the boat, and with no small difficulty contrived totumble him in. This was the most troublesome part of the business,for the boat behaved as coyly as a girl when a sweetheart tries tosnatch a first kiss—dodging this way and that, ducking and dipping,till the pair of us were like to be thrown headlong into the water.But I achieved[Pg 50] my purpose at last, and having lashed my captive'sankles together with the rope—the "painter" yachtsmen call it, do theynot?—by which the boat had been fastened, I took up the oars and rowedout into mid-river.

By this time my captive was beginning to show signs of returningconsciousness, his revival being accelerated, no doubt, by the wettinghe had received in being dragged into the boat. Apparently he was stillin pain from my kick, for he groaned feebly once or twice, and thenmoaned: "I feel sick."

"Yes," I said, "and you'll feel sicker before I've done with you."

It was brutal to speak thus to a man defenceless, and in pain; but Ihad been under a terrible strain that evening, and now that the dangerwas passed, the inevitable reaction had come, and none could havebeen more surprised than I was to find the reaction take the form ofsomething like savagery. By nature I am by no means vindictive; but,remembering that this very man had gone round to the back of the opiumden with the deliberate intention of murdering me, I took, I am ashamedto say, a cruel[Pg 51] and catlike pleasure in having him thus at my mercy,and in seeing him a prey to the same terrors which I had been compelledto endure. Police magistrates and His Majesty's judges may to-dayreplace the rude justice of the primæval forest; but in spite of thehumanising and refining influence of civilisation, the beast in us dieshard.

"Where am I?" he inquired, trying to raise his head.

"You're clearly a man of very little originality," I said, stillexulting savagely in having him at my mercy, instead of being—asearlier in the evening I was like to be—at his. "'Where am I?' is whatthey all say—whether on the stage, or in a novel, or in real life—onrecovering from a faint. But, if you particularly wish to know whereyou are, I don't mind telling you. You are in a boat on the riverThames, somewhere off Limehouse; but you'll be in even less comfortablequarters before long, if I'm not much mistaken."

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Well," I said, "anyone listening to our conversation might thinkthat I was 'A' and you were 'Q' in Mangnall's book of[Pg 52] Questions andAnswers. I should think you'd know who I was without having to makeso many inquiries, Mr. Parker. I'm the man you and your friend Smudgywere told off to murder not so very many minutes ago. Now you are myprisoner, and with your very kind permission, or without it, I'm goingto hand you over to the police."

"For God's sake don't do that!" he cried, trying to rise. This hishandcuffed wrists and bound ankles prevented him from accomplishing;finding which, to my surprise and dismay, he fell back blubbering likea baby.

"Give me a chance, Mr. Grant," he begged. "I've gone against the law Iknow, but I've been drove to it, sir, drove to it by being out of workso long."

"Look here," I said; "tell me what you and the man you call theDumpling and the other rascals are after, and if I find you've toldme the truth and kept nothing back, I'll let you go. It is your onlychance; and considering the way you'd have treated me, I think it is avery generous offer.

"There's a mystery, and it strikes me a very wicked and criminalmystery, about[Pg 53] all this—that opium den with its crucible, andchemicals, and queer instruments in the kitchen, the Dumpling, theChinamen, yourself, and the other men. I've got to know all about it,and to know it now and here, this night, and in this boat. Make a cleanbreast of it; tell me everything, and I'll let you go. Refuse, and Itake you straight, handcuffed and tied up as you are, to the police.Come, no beating about the bush. Which is it to be? 'Yes' or 'No'?"

"I can't help myself," he answered. "You say you've got to know aboutthe Dumpling and the house, and the rest of us, and what we're after,and that I've got to choose between telling and being handed over tothe police. You swear, you take your Davy, you'll let me go free if Itell?"

"I swear it," I said. "Tell me all, and I swear to loose you and putyou ashore free and unfollowed—when you've done."

"Very well," he replied sullenly, doggedly. "I'll tell. But theDumpling"—with an oath—"will find me out and kill me if he gets toknow that I've peached."

[Pg 54]

"We'll hope he doesn't hear," I said, settling myself down to listen,but pulling gently at the oars meantime.

Then Parker began his story.

THE MILLIONAIRES' CLUB.

"It's this way," Parker began a trifle importantly—and something therewas in his way of saying even these three words which made me suspecthim to be a man fond of the sound of his own voice. Though entirelyuneducated, he had, as I afterwards heard, a keen memory, and a readyknack of picking up scraps of information, both of which stood him ingood stead in the speeches upon social subjects which he was apt todeliver in the parks on Sunday afternoons, and at other places wheredebaters foregather.

"It was this way, Mr. Grant. What with the strikes, and the work goingout of the country, to Germany and America, and never coming back, inconsequence of the strikes, things have been cruel hard in East Londonthis winter, and when a big firm of ship-builders closed their yards,and went North, that meant starvation to thousands of us. Then theDumpling turned[Pg 56] up, and used to address meetings of the unemployed.'Law!' he says to them as was agitating to have the law altered, 'whileyou are asking for law, your wives and children are starving. The lawwon't do nothing for you unless you force it; and the rate you're goingon, you won't force it—not an inch in ten years; and where will yoube then? Starved, and in your graves, you and your wives and children.You can send a score or two of your Labour leaders to Parliament, andmuch good that will do you. They can't make laws; there aren't enoughof them in Parliament to do it. They get voted down, and then where areyou? Look here, boys,' he says; 'it's Parliament as makes the laws,and Parliament, even this Parliament, a big part of it, is made up oflandowners, and landlords, and company promoters, and capitalists, andbig employers, and sweaters. They aren't going to make laws againstthemselves—'tain't likely. For one poor man in Parliament there'sfifty rich, and you haven't got no chance there. But, boys,' he says,a-wagging his finger at us, 'for every rich man in Parliament there'shundreds and thousands out o' Parliament as[Pg 57] is poor and starving.You're in a minority in Parliament, and minorities always get crushed.We have got it on the authority of a Cabinet Minister—and heought to know. But it's them as is in a minority outside. Ifyou have men's blood in your veins, you'll up and crush them. You'rea thousand to one, you poor, what sweat and slave and starve to makemoney for the rich folk to spend. What I say to you is: Don't pleadfor your rights no more. You take 'em, as you can if you like, and letthe rich people have a turn at the pleading. It's you who hold thewhip—not them. If the down-trodden people of the country was onlyto rise up and assert their rights, the landlords and landowners andgrabbers and sweaters couldn't hold out for one hour. Come out of it,boys! Come out of it, all of you who are men and not monkeys. Monkeys!'he says. 'Yes, you are monkeys. You are like monkeys chained to apiano-organ, and the piano-organ that's what they call Parliament. Thepoor man he has to do the dancing and get the whip, same as the monkeydoes, and the rich man gets the money and chooses the tune. But, boys,'he says, 'do you think if there was[Pg 58] a million o' monkeys for every manas kept a monkey and an organ—do you think the monkeys would go onletting themselves be kept like slaves upon a chain? Not they! They'dbe up and fight for their lives and liberty with nails and teeth.'"

All this time we had been drifting slowly down the river on the slackof the tide. The night was now very dark and inclined to be foggy, so Iturned the boat's head round, and began to pull towards town.

"What was the scheme that was to be carried out to-night?" I questioned.

"What are we going back for, and where are you taking me?" asked Parkersuspiciously, counter-questioning.

"I'm going back," I replied, "because it's getting very dark andpromises to be foggy. Get on with your story, but do your best to cutit short."

"I don't want to make it any longer than I can help," was the reply;"but if I don't tell it my own way I can't tell it at all. Well, that'sthe way the Dumpling talked to us, and there was no denying that whathe said was true. And he did more than talk at meetings. He got holdof Smudgy and me and some more of us, and[Pg 59] said if we'd throw in ourlot with him he'd see we were paid something each week out of a fundthat had been started in America and Germany and other places, for thebenefit of agitators and workers in the cause of liberty all over theworld. And he kept his word, too. We got it regular each week, and byand by he put us on to little jobs—I needn't stop to tell you aboutthem now—that put more money in our way. We kicked at some of them atfirst, but he's a nasty man to argue with, and pointed out that we werehelping the cause by taking money from the rich to use it for them aswas working in the cause of the poor, and after that we said——"

"You're rather long-winded, my friend," I interrupted; "and again Imust point out to you that it's getting cold and foggier and late.Can't you cut the thing shorter yet, and come to the opium den andto-night's work?"

"That's just what I was going to," replied Parker in an injured tone."Perhaps I am a bit long-winded. The Dumpling used to say I was, andhe's one of them clever ones what ought to know. He said once——"

[Pg 60]

"Oh, never mind what he said!" I interrupted impatiently. "Get onquickly to the opium den and to-night's work. It's of that I wish tohear."

"One night," continued Parker, "the Dumpling asked Smudgy and me ifwe'd like to stand in with him in a little scheme he'd got to make apot of money. And this very night we was to meet in that opium den—usas was in it—to arrange things. I didn't half like the job, that'sthe fact, especially when I found that detectives were on the track.But the Dumpling isn't the sort of man you find it easy to say 'No'to, when he turns that north eye of his on you. Makes me feel quitehelpless, he does, and cold all down my back."

I nodded.

"Yes, I can believe he's not a pleasant customer to come the wrong sideof; but that's no excuse for you and Smudgy trying to murder me."

"We didn't mean murdering you or anyone else," protested Parker. "TheDumpling he says to us, 'Boys,' he says, 'I've got everything arranged,and we'll carry this thing through to-night. But I don't play no losinggames. Grant, the detective, is[Pg 61] on our track, and if he comes betweenus and our business—him and his blue coats—he'll have to take theconsequences. So you'd better be armed,' he says, and he gives Smudgyand me and the other chaps a revolver each, and a knife. 'Don't shootunless you have to, or unless I tell you to,' he says. 'Them as playsthe game we're going to play had best keep a silent tongue in theirhead, and there's no tongue so silent and so sure as a sharp knife. Itdoes the work and don't holloa about it. But pistols is noisy servants.So don't use the shooting irons unless you're compelled to.'

"Smudgy and me we took the knives—I've got mine on me now—and thepistols, but we agreed we wouldn't use 'em. Nabbing a bit o' money'sone thing, but getting nabbed for murder's quite another."

"What was the business you were to carry out to-night?" I interruptedonce more. "Are you trying to talk out the time, under the idea thatyou'll be rescued, or something of that sort?"

"I'm coming to it now," replied Parker sulkily. "It's you as keepsputting me off with interruptions. There's a club what[Pg 62] they call'The Millionaires' Club.' There aren't many in it—seven, I think theDumpling said; but they're all millionaires, and all of 'em was quitepoor men once, poor as me and Smudgy. Now they've got millions, andlive in mansions in Park Lane, and has ten-course dinners off gold andsilver plates. But I say, Mr. Grant, can't I be untied now? I'm numbwith cold and with lying here so long. I've very nearly finished mystory, and, if you'll loose me, I'll promise to finish it faithful tothe end."

"There's no reason why you shouldn't have your ankles free and sit up,"I said, hauling in the sculls and laying them alongside as I stoopedto unfasten the rope that was lashed about Parker's feet. "We'll talkabout taking the handcuffs off when you've done. Go on—I'm listening.This knot here's rather tight, but I can hear what you say while I'mundoing it."

"Once a month," continued Parker, whilst I was tugging at theknot, "these millionaires meet secretly in the back parlour in apublic-house out Shadwell way, and have a feed o' tripe and onions,or pigs' trotters or chitlings or fa*ggots, or stewed eels or friedfish, or something of that sort, and[Pg 63] drink four half out of pintpots, and smoke shag tobacco in clay pipes, and play shove-ha'pennyand pitch-and-toss for coppers. It's coming off to-night, this Crœsusbean-feast and blow-out, as the Dumpling calls it; and he's plannedto kidnap one of 'em on their way home, and make him pay a thumpingbig sum for ransom money. The place was to be—— Hi! Look out, there!There's a big ship coming out of the fog just behind you. My God! She'son us. And me tied up like this! Let me loose, for Christ's sake! It'smurder. It's——"

Simultaneously with a sudden crash—under the impact of which the boatseemed to shiver like a live thing—the blurred fog-blinded lights onthe river banks broke into zigzagging globes of yellow light that shotbackwards and forwards, upward and downward and sideways before myeyes, as gnats dart and dance and dodge among themselves on a summereve. Then these lights all ran together into a streak of yellow fire.The boat seemed to leap forward and to rise under us, as a horse whichhas staggered to its knees, when hit by a bullet, strives to struggleforward and to its feet under its rider; and the next instant the[Pg 64]frail craft went to pieces and fell away from under us.

In that instant I saw the ghastly face of Parker staring uphorror-stricken at what looked like the high and perpendicular sideof a house which was about to fall upon us, and that, in the act ofovertoppling, seemed momentarily to hang and hover and brood gloatinglyabove our head. Then there came the deadly and numbing chill ofice-cold and rushing water that sucked us down and under, as if to thefalling house's very foundations.

I AM SNUBBED BY SCOTLAND YARD.

It was "murder," as Parker had said. Even as I went down I wasconscious of the horror, of the inhumanity, of letting a poor devil,tied hand and foot like a dog in a sack, go to his doom with nevera chance of making a fight for his life. For myself, being a fairswimmer, and accustomed to a cold dip in rough seas, winter and summer,I was in no such fear as entirely to lose my presence of mind. Thedanger lay, of course, in my being sucked under the ship's bottom anddrowned before I could make my way to the surface; but as the steamerwas going very slowly and had taken us side-on, rather than with theprow, I managed in a very few seconds to get clear of her wash, and up,with open eyes, on the top of the water. Apparently no one on board thesteamer was aware that she had struck and sunk a rowing boat, for shewent slowly but steadily on her way, as if nothing had happened. Had wenot[Pg 66] chanced to enter a fog bank a few minutes before the collision,and had I not been engaged in loosening Parker's bonds, the probabilityis that the accident would not have occurred. What most concerned me,however, was not the cause of the mishap, but the whereabouts of poorParker. Again and again I crossed and re-crossed the subsiding wash ofthe vessel's wake; again and again I halloed and called the unhappyman by name; but all, alas, to no purpose. Except for the answeringbark of a dog from a barge in-shore, the hooting of the steamer'sfog-horn, and the washing of the water, there was no reply, and, beingsomewhat exhausted, I gave up the search and struck out for the nearestshore. It had been slack water for the last half-hour, and the tidewas, fortunately for me, only just upon the turn; so, without beingcarried far out of my course, I was able to reach the river's bank insafety. Wet as I was, I could not walk the streets without attractingattention, but, luckily for me, the very first vehicle which camealong was a doctor's carriage. I shouted to the driver to stop, andexplaining my plight to his master by saying I had[Pg 67] been run down inthe fog while on the river, asked him to be so very good as to driveme to the police station. He not only consented, but plied me with arestorative of some sort which he had in his bag; and when I reachedthe station I was, except for a shivering fit, not very much the worsefor my wetting. There, while I was having a rub down and changing intothe clothes—a policeman's uniform—which was provided for me, I toldmy story. The superintendent was very civil. He said he was awareof the existence of the opium den in question, but otherwise knewof nothing criminal in connection with it, but would at once send asufficient number of men to raid the place. He also rang up the riverpolice on the telephone, suggesting that a boat should be sent outin search of Parker's body, and instructed a plain-clothes officerto accompany me in a cab to the address which I gave as my lodging.Whether this was done in order to verify the address, and because hesuspected the truth of my story, I did not know, and did not care. Itwas a reasonable enough precaution to take, and, having nothing toconceal, I did not resent his taking it, and, indeed, was[Pg 68] not sorry tohave a companion upon my journey, for, now that the excitement whichhad buoyed me up was passing, I began to feel somewhat exhausted.

Next morning I took cab to Scotland Yard, where I sent in my name andbusiness, and was at once received in audience by one of the heads. Hegreeted me courteously, heard my story out, interpolating a few shrewdand pointed questions now and then, and occasionally making a note.

When I had come to an end of my narrative he bowed gravely, and said:

"Thank you, Mr. Rissler. The superintendent at the station where youcalled has already communicated with us in regard to your statement.I'm not sure that what you have told us will be of any practicalassistance, except in so far as it confirms what we already know. Butwe are obliged to you in any case. You have done rightly in comingto us. We will communicate with you should we want your furtherassistance. We have your address, I think? Thank you very much. Goodmorning."

"You know this man, the Dumpling, as they call him?" I inquiredeagerly, ignoring my dismissal.

[Pg 69]

"Perfectly."

"What is there against him?"

"Nothing—absolutely nothing. He holds views which in some countrieswould get him into trouble, but in England one can talk anarchy oranything else as much as one likes, so long as one's actions keepwithin the law. And he keeps doubtful company. In fact, I may go so faras to say that we suspect him of knowing something beforehand of morethan one outrage with which we have had to deal, though we have not yetbeen able to implicate him directly."

"And what's his name?" I asked.

Scotland Yard, as personified in the official before me, lifted itseyebrows and shrugged its shoulders.

"Really, Mr. Rissler, I don't think I must answer any more questions.As I have said, you have done quite right in coming to us, though youhaven't told us anything we didn't know before. But the matter is inthe hands of Detective Grant, and I think you may safely leave itthere."

"Oh, yes," I said. "Grant's a good man. He's a friend of mine. Weworked together, he and I, in more than one case in the past."

[Pg 70]

"Indeed!"

Scotland Yard did not seem particularly interested in theseautobiographical details, either about myself or about Grant.

"Indeed," it repeated with an air of bland boredom, rising from itschair to indicate that the interview was at an end.

"I've done some detective work myself, as you perhaps know," I went on;"and having been pitchforked, as it were, into this particular case,I'm more than inclined to see if I can make anything of it; in whichcase, should I discover anything, I should, of course, acquaint youwith my discoveries, so that we could co-operate together."

"You are very considerate," replied Scotland Yard, sarcastically;"but I fancy we are tolerably competent to do our work withoutoutside assistance. I've heard of you, Mr. Rissler. You do a littleinvestigation on your own account, don't you?—and then write storiesabout it after. Well, with the story-writing I have no fault to find. Ihaven't read any of your stories, but I'm told they are quite harmless.But, really, don't you think this is a case which is best let alone byamateurs? We can't[Pg 71] stop you from interfering as they do in medicine,where quacks are pulled up pretty sharp by the law, but if you take myadvice you'll let the detection of crime alone, except in novels, whereI have no doubt you acquit yourself very creditably. But really I can'tspare any more time for further discussion. Again we are obliged to youfor having come to us with your story. If anything should transpire tomake it necessary to communicate with you again, you shall hear fromus. Good morning."

"Quacks!" I said to myself, angrily, as I stalked out with my head inthe air. "I've been the means, as they know, of bringing more than onecriminal to justice, and here I'm called a quack by a superciliousrepresentative of officialdom."

Outside in Whitehall I called a cab.

"—— police station," I said. "You can wait and bring me back, sodon't raise your eyebrows. If I don't come back, I'll pay your fare allthe same."

"Right, sir," he said, evidently in good spirits at the prospect of along and lucrative job, the good spirits in question being manifestedat somebody else's expense.

"What! both of you awake!" he called[Pg 72] out in surprisedastonishment to a couple of carmen who blocked his way for a momentwith their vans.

Then, chuckling at the fact that a somewhat limited vocabulary couldnot bear the strain which an apparently unlimited knowledge of hisfamily tree placed upon it, and so necessitated the inclusion anddescription of himself and his entire ancestry in one simple andcomprehensive colour-scheme, he whipped up his horse, and directed itshead eastward.

"WANTED" BY THE POLICE.

On the previous night the police superintendent at —— had treatedme with a courtesy which was almost deferential; and had himselfaccompanied me to my cab to say:

"Good-night, sir, and I hope you'll be none the worse for your wetting."

Witnessing my rather ceremonious "send off," the very young and perhapsrecently-enlisted member of the force, on duty in the outer office,had evidently been duly impressed with the fact that I was a person ofsome weight. On my presenting myself at the station next morning, hegreeted me with a smile of obsequious respect, and without waiting toreport my call to the superintendent, conducted me importantly, andwith a great air of knowing when and to whom to accord honour, straightinto the august presence of his chief. The somewhat officious air withwhich he announced "Mr. Rissler, sir," was speedily[Pg 74] changed into alook of blank and crest-fallen surprise, for instead of receiving me asa favoured caller, the superintendent—who, as we entered, had his earglued to the telephone—jumped up in a passion, and shouted:

"How dare you show this person, or any person, into my room withoutpermission?"

Looking at me viciously, as at one who had been guilty of the crime ofobtaining a respectful reception under false pretences, the unfortunateconstable stammered out:

"Very sorry, sir; but thought that the gentlem—person—was a friendof yours." And, saluting with a proper air of chastened humility, hewithdrew.

Scarcely had the door closed behind him before the telephone bellclashed its discordant jangling at the superintendent's very ear,jarring the nerves of both of us, and causing him almost to jump in hisshoes.

Then I "tumbled" to the situation. If I was not very much mistaken,he had been in communication with Scotland Yard at the moment of myentrance, the subject of the conference being none other than[Pg 75] myhumble self; and, judging by the marked difference in my reception,and by the way in which, with one ear stooped to the telephone, he wasglaring at me with both eyes, his last night's reception of myself andhis communicativeness had not come in for his chief's commendation.That he had been receiving something of a jacketing his first few wordstold.

"Are you there? Oh, it's you, sir, again—is it? Yes, sir, I did hearwhat you said just now, and am very sorry. What do you say? No, sir, Ididn't leave the telephone before you had done speaking. I shouldn'tthink of doing such a thing, but somebody came into my room andinterrupted me. Will you excuse me a second, sir, while I turn themout? Then I think I can explain why I acted as I did."

Without taking his ear from the telephone, and without saying a word,he pointed me peremptorily to the door, seeing which, I of courseinstantly withdrew to the outer office, where I was surveyed withsupercilious scorn by the youthful constable, who a few minutes beforehad so deferentially ushered me into the superintendent's room. Turningmy back contemptuously upon him,[Pg 76] I studied a board upon which weredisplayed the portraits of certain characters "wanted" by the police.The young constable, who apparently attributed his downfall fromofficial favour to a malicious and deeply-laid plot on my part, sought,in vulgar parlance, "to get back a bit of his own" by affecting to finda resemblance between some of the "wanteds" and myself, examining firsttheir faces, and then my features, with an interest which I could notbut consider offensive.

Obviously the only card left for me to play was to appear unconsciousof the comparison which he was instituting, and while I was doing thisto the best of what I fear was a poor ability, the door opened, and thesuperintendent came out.

"You want to see me, Mr.—er—Rissler, isn't it?" he inquired rudely."What is it? I've no time to spare this morning."

"I won't keep you long," I said. "But you were good enough to say lastnight that you would send some of your men to inspect the opium den,and I called in to hear what happened, and to ask whether Parker's bodyhad been found."

"You called to hear what had happened, and to ask this, and to askthat!" he said[Pg 77] insolently. "Since when have you been appointed to thehead office in New Scotland Yard, that you come here to cross-examineme on my own business? Pretty fine pass the force is coming to,if we're to take every Tom, Dick, and Harry into our confidence.I've nothing to tell you, sir, except to advise you to confine yourattention to your own business, and leave other people to attend totheir own. Good morning."

Turning on his heel he walked into his room again, slamming the doorbehind him; so, affecting not to see the insolent grin on the faceof my friend the youthful constable, who had been present during mysnubbing, I put my hat on my head and stepped into the street.

"But I'll find out the result of the raiding of the den yet," I saidto myself. "The superintendent here, and his men, were friendly enoughto me last night, and I strongly suspect that the orders to tell menothing have only just arrived from New Scotland Yard. If I can findthe policeman within whose beat the den is, it is possible that he hasnot yet received instructions that I'm to be kept in the dark, and thathalf-a-crown may open his mouth.[Pg 78] Anyhow, it can do no harm to have atry."

Nor was I wrong in my conjecture. The policeman—when I found him,which I did with little difficulty—was friendly and communicative.

"Oh, you're the gent, are you, sir, who laid the information aboutthe opium den? I wasn't at the station when you called, but I came indirectly after, and heard the superintendent talking about it. He'dbe glad to see you, I think, sir, if you was to look in. Oh, yes; hesent five men round to the place at once. But, Lord, sir, the rascalshad got wind of it, and when our men got there, the birds had flown.Cleared out—that's what they had, every man Jack of them. There wasthe broken window, just as you said, and there was the marks on thedoor, a-showin' as somebody had tried to break it in, or to batter itdown, but them as had been there had all cleared out, and they'd takenthe chemicals and tools and other things, what you saw there with 'em.The chief he's trying to track the rascals down, and to find wherethey've moved to, for they must have put them things somewhere. Itstands to reason they[Pg 79] can't walk about with them in the street. Butthough he clapped two of our best men on the job, they hadn't foundanything when I came out on beat."

"And Parker's body?" I inquired. "Has it been found?"

"Not as I've heard on, sir. But holloa, what's this?"

The constable and I had been strolling on together while talking, andon turning the corner of a small and evil-smelling street we saw a knotof people gathered outside a sweet shop.

"Now, then! What's all this? Stand aside there, will you?" hecommanded, shouldering the crowd aside.

At the door a wretched hag, her lank grey hair falling in dishevelledwisps upon her shoulders, and the pores of her face so choked with dirtthat the grime lay in lines along the wrinkles, was clawing at theair with one skinny hand and arm, alternately sobbing and screaminghysterically.

"Come, come, my good woman!" said the constable sharply. "Stop thatnoise, and tell me what it's all about."

Shaking her head, as if to convey that she was powerless to speak, thewretched[Pg 80] creature clutched wildly at the door lintel, and then fell ina swoon almost at his feet.

"Who is the woman? And what's the trouble?" inquired the constable ofthe bystanders. "Do any of you know her?"

"Macintyre's her name," volunteered a respectable looking woman inthe crowd. "She keeps the sweet shop inside, and lets her rooms aslodgings. I never heard anything against her. But I don't know what'sthe matter. She'd only just come out into the street before you came."

"She lives here, does she?" inquired the constable. "Stand aside there,and I'll have a look inside and see if anything's wrong."

Then a small voice, that sounded quite near to the pavement, shrilledfrom the spot where the crowd pressed thickest.

It came from a wee, wizened girl-child, who looked as if she might beten and talked with the precision and self-possession of twenty—sopitifully sharpened do the wits of the children of the streets becomein the struggle for existence.

"It's my Granny—that's who it is. She's got a lodger in the back room,Black Sam. Somebody gave him two shillings yesterday, and he came homedrunk last night, quite[Pg 81] early, and went to bed. I know he was drunk,for two gentlemen came to see him about ten, but Granny told them hewas in bed, and drunk, in the back room, and they couldn't see him tillthis morning. I heard a funny noise in his room in the night. It wokeme up. It sounded like someone trying to scream, and not being able to;and I thought I heard people moving about. So I woke Granny up and toldher so, but she was cross with me for waking her, and said it was onlyhis drunken snoring I'd heard. But just now, as Black Sam didn't getup, Granny and I went into his room. The window was wide open, and Samwas lying on the floor all over blood. And please, sir, there's a bighole in his throat, and he's quite cold, and I think he's dead."

"Black Sam!" Surely I had heard that name before? Why, yes, and nolonger ago than on the preceding evening. When the leader of the gangin the opium den had asked me who it was that directed me there, I hadreplied, "A negro match-seller, whom I saw outside Poplar station." Hiscomment had been "Ah! a negro match-seller—and outside Poplar station.I think I know the fellow. We must look into this!"

[Pg 82]

Then his confederates had whispered together, the only words that I hadoverheard being the dead man's name, "Black Sam." Two of the gang hadthen left the house, as if on some errand. That was, I remembered—forthe clock struck soon after—just before ten. It was at ten that twomen had called to see the negro. They had been told that he had comehome drunk, and was lying in the back room asleep. Was it they who hadentered that room by the window in the dead of the night and murderedhim?

"DEAD MAN'S POINT."

As the murder of Black Sam plays no further part in this story, I donot propose to describe in detail the ghastly scene which presenteditself when, in company with the police officer, I entered the deathchamber.

Sensational enough, and more than enough, this narrative of the huntingdown of a master-criminal must necessarily be, without the gratuitousdescription of scenes—no matter how impressive—which have no directbearing upon my story. Of the murder of Black Sam it was necessaryto tell as much as I have told, if the reader is to follow, step bystep, my first meeting, and my final struggle with, the man aroundwhom the narrative centres. When to what I have already related, I addthat, whatever the motive for the crime, the subsequent investigationestablished the fact that the motive was at least not robbery, wemay dismiss the murder of Black Sam from memory, and pass on to myefforts to get[Pg 84] upon the trail of the man who was the instigator of thecrime—the man whose acquaintance I had so eventfully, if casually,made on the occasion of my visit to the opium den.

My first step must, of course, be to get into communication withGrant. Until I had seen him, and learnt his views, I did not feelfree seriously to enter upon the case at all. That he already had itin hand, I had been told by New Scotland Yard, and that he was makingprogress was clear from the fact that, disguised as a Chinaman, hehad contrived to enter the meeting-place of the gang, possibly evento overhear some of their plans. It is not likely that, without verystrong actual or presumptive evidence of their guilt, he would havebidden me make my way to the nearest police station, and ask, in hisname, that a body of men be sent to make prisoners of the entire gang.Grant was a private detective, not a New Scotland Yard man; but he wasperhaps the only private detective whom New Scotland Yard can be saidto have recognised. He had been of such frequent assistance to thechiefs of the Criminal Investigation Department, and his relations[Pg 85]with them were so friendly, that his standing had come to be in asense semi-official, and no reasonable request by him was likely to berefused.

If, on communicating with him, I found that he had, as seemed probable,the case more or less complete, I should, of course, recognise thathis was the prior right, and that any interference on my part, exceptby his invitation or his permission, would be an impertinence. If,however, as I hoped, he had still links to fill in, before completingthe chain, my intention was to ask him to allow me to work inconnection with him. It has been said by a great thinker that "thethings that are for you, gravitate towards you," and judging by the wayin which the Fates had involved me—as by some law of gravitation—intothe matter of the opium den mystery, the working out of that mystery toits unravelment seemed to be my destiny.

In the meantime, where was Grant? I had left him in the den, disguisedas a Chinaman, his identity apparently unsuspected even by the Dumpling.

It is, of course, within the bounds of possibility that the Dumplinghad all the[Pg 86] time known perfectly well that my story of having come tothe den merely in search of "copy" was likely to be true, and that thesupposed Chinaman upstairs, smoking opium, was in reality DetectiveGrant. I say, it is within the bounds of possibility that it is so,but in my own mind I was entirely convinced that the identity of Grantwith the Chinaman was quite unsuspected. If that were so, the factthat I had made good my escape from the den would cause—and evidentlyhad caused—something like a panic among the members of the gang. Itwas no doubt because they believed me to be Grant, and knew me to beuninjured and at large, that, within an hour or two of my escape, theyhad cleared out of the den, taking all their effects with them.

In the meantime—to repeat the question I have already put—where wasGrant? Had he, after I had gone that evening, said or done anythingto arouse suspicion, and been murdered by the Dumpling's orders? Orhad he been allowed to depart, unsuspected and unharmed? And was hispresent mysterious disappearance due to the fact that he had followedup the gang after the flight, and was still engaged in watching[Pg 87]their movements and in completing the chain of evidence againstthem? For that he had—either of his own, or of somebody else'schoosing—vanished, and left no trace behind, was absolutely certain. Ihad gone straight from the scene of the negro's murder to the nearestpost office, and had wired to Grant's chambers in Adelphi Terrace,asking for an appointment, and that a reply be sent immediately to theSavage Club, where I intended to lunch. Arrived at the club I foundGrant's man-servant awaiting me. He said that his master had gone outthe previous morning, and had neither returned nor sent a message.There was, of course, nothing unusual in this, for a detective'sgoings and comings are necessarily uncertain; but, remembering thecirc*mstances under which I had last seen my friend, I could not helpfeeling uneasy.

In a restless mood I strolled out of the club and walked City-wards,along the Embankment. From the headquarters of an evening newspaper,in the neighbourhood of Tudor Street, the newsboys were rushing,shouting as they ran, and making of the place a very Babel with theirbellowings.

[Pg 88]

"'Ere y'are, sir! Terrible river tragedy! Three bodies found in theThames this morning!"

Purchasing a paper from the nearest boy, I scanned it eagerly,anxiously. Beyond a paragraph recording the bare fact that the bodiesof three men, supposed to be sailors, had been found at Dead Man'sPoint, Canvey Island, the spot where the corpses of those drowned inthe Thames are sometimes washed ashore, there was little to satisfy mycuriosity. I had not walked a score of yards before a fresh bevy ofnewsboys burst from another newspaper distributing centre.

"Spesh'l!" they yelled. "Great river mystery! Three persons drowned inthe Thames! Mysterious circ*mstances! Suspected murder! 'Ere y'are,Sir! Spesh'l! Latest particulars!"

Again I purchased a paper, to find, in the stop-press portion of theprint, the following paragraph:

In my present mood, action of some sort[Pg 89] was imperative, and as acab was passing, I hailed it, and calling out "Fenchurch StreetStation—fast as you can," jumped in.

At Fenchurch I took the first train to Benfleet, ferrying over thecreek which at high tide separates Canvey from the mainland, and makingmy way across the island to the "Lobster Smack" at Hole Haven, where Iasked to be allowed to see the bodies.

They were lying in an outhouse, side by side, each figure decentlycovered by a cloth. The first to be exposed I recognised withoutsurprise, and at a glance, as that of the hapless Parker. He wasdressed just as he had been when I last saw him, and with the handcuffsstill on his wrists.

The second body was, to the best of my belief, that of his lateassociate, Smudgy. I could not swear to the features, for Smudgy hadbeen stationed at the top of the staircase while I was in the opiumden, and I had kept too close an eye upon the Dumpling, and the man whohad remained with him in the room, to pay much attention to what wasgoing on outside. Unless I was very much mistaken, however, the shabbygreeny-fawn dust coat and the frayed shepherds' plaid trousers werethe same which I had[Pg 90] seen upon one of the two men who had remained onguard at the head of the stairs, and had afterwards been despatched,in company with Parker, to cut off my retreat at the back of thehouse. When I had last seen him, he had been in full flight across themoon-lit space of waste land, and in a direction away from the river.Whether he was dead or alive when he got into the water, or how hecame to be there at all, I had no means of knowing, and could onlyconjecture that, finding he had been duped, and fearing the Dumpling'sanger on hearing of my escape, Smudgy had returned to the river insearch of myself and Parker, and had been accidentally drowned. Thethird body was next uncovered. Apparently the corpse, in its passagedown the river, had been caught by the screw of a passing steamer,and so cut and crushed as to be unrecognisable. The bones of all thelimbs were twisted and broken, the body beaten almost into a pulp, andthe whole of the face sliced off, as if by a stroke of the steamer'sswiftly revolving screw.

Then, for the first and, I hope, last time in my life, Ifainted—fainted from sheer horror, for around the otherwise nakedbody[Pg 91] was a leather belt from which a ragged inch of what had once beentrousering still clung. Looking more closely, I saw that it was ofblue silk, with tiny zigzagged threads of silver interwoven. Not manyhours ago I had seen a man who, to my positive knowledge, always worea leather belt (he had at one time been a sailor) around his waist. Hehad then been clad in Chinese trousering of the identical pattern—bluesilk with a tiny zigzagged thread of interwoven silver. That man wasmy unhappy friend, Robert Grant, and, looking again at the body, I sawthat some sort of yellow dye had recently been used to stain the faceand hands and neck.

I TURN BURGLAR.

As I had now decided to devote myself to finding the man known asthe Dumpling, and to the clearing up of the mystery of my friend'sdeath and of the opium den, the first question to be asked (it wasthe question I put to myself as I walked away from the inn) was,"Did the Dumpling really believe me to be Grant?" If that were so,it was possible that Grant had to the last successfully maintainedhis disguise, and had met his death accidentally while shadowing thefugitives, who had probably made their escape by way of the water. Orit was possible that, without suspecting the supposed Chinaman to beGrant, something may have happened after my departure to arouse theDumpling's suspicions in regard to Grant's good faith, in which caseshort work would no doubt be made of the intruder.

What was more likely, for instance, than that, hearing the uproardownstairs, after I had locked myself in the kitchen, and[Pg 93] fearingthat I was being murdered, Grant had rushed down to my assistance, andso betrayed himself? In which case, the Dumpling would have made nobones about knocking him on the head, or otherwise despatching him andthrowing the body into the river. But, apart from the question whethermy friend had met his death by accident or by intention, the factsseemed to justify me in assuming that the Dumpling had really believedme to be Grant, the detective. The reader will remember that, after Ihad locked myself in the kitchen, the Dumpling had called out, "Don'tsay you haven't killed your man! He mustn't leave the place alive. It'sRobert Grant, the detective. I had word that he'd tracked us, and meanttrying to get in here to-night."

All this seemed strongly to point to the fact that the Dumplingdid indeed believe me to be the hated detective. How he had gotwind of Grant's intention to effect an entrance to the den, or howGrant had contrived successfully to effect that entrance, and to disarmsuspicion, I did not know; but, supposing that news of the threateneddanger had only reached the ears of the Dumpling a few moments beforemy arrival,[Pg 94] and before he had time to turn his suspicions in otherdirections—the fact that the news was followed by the entrance ofa suspicious stranger, who could give no better explanation for hispresence than a lame and apparently trumped-up story about a commissionto write a magazine article on opium dens, would certainly lend colourto the assumption that I was the expected man. The determined anddesperate efforts which had subsequently been made to murder me, allseemed to point the same way; and I decided to start my investigationby assuming that the Dumpling and his accomplices had believed, andstill believed, me to be none other than Robert Grant, the detective.

If that were so, my escape would cause something like a panic amongthem, and would lead to their taking immediate steps to discover mywhereabouts, and to put me out of the way. The first of these immediatesteps would be to set a watch upon Grant's house; and to discoverwhether this was being done, must be my very first business. The factthat Grant's house was being watched—unless, of course, I couldsatisfy myself that the watching was being[Pg 95] done by the police—wouldnot only go far to prove the accuracy of my theory, but would alsobe the means of putting me upon the track of the Dumpling or of hisaccomplices.

Naturally, I had to go to work very carefully. Were I, even ifskilfully disguised, to do so much as walk twice, or even once, up thestreet in which Grant's house was situated, I should be in danger ofattracting attention. Shadowing the house by concealing myself in darkdoorways and lurking around corners, was quite out of the question, andthe common plan of posing as a lodger, and hiring a room or rooms in anopposite or neighbouring house, would be equally impracticable.

Even if I commissioned a friend to make the necessary inquiries,I should have to take possession of my lodgings—if suitablelodgings with a view of the street were found, which was by no meanscertain—more or less openly; and having once taken possession, I couldnot get in and out without attracting attention.

Everyone who knows the West End of London is familiar with the somewhatshabby side streets which borrow gentility and[Pg 96] grandeur from thefact that they are situated near, or off, a fashionable square, fromwhich they take their name. Grant lived in Taunton Place, a modestlittle street consisting of two rows of small houses which abuttedupon the many mansions of aristocratic Taunton Square. Driving throughTaunton Place, sitting well back and out of sight in the recesses ofa four-wheel cab, I observed an empty house on the opposite side ofthe way to Grant's, and almost at the corner where Taunton Place andTaunton Square converged. Waiting till night had set in, I burgled thisempty house from the back, and began my watch.

The result was in every way satisfactory. Grant's house was undoubtedlybeing watched, and by a man who, it was not difficult to see, wasdoing double duty. He was keeping a constant eye not only upon No. 10,Taunton Place, where Grant resided, but also upon a big, pretentious,bow-windowed and pillar-porticoed mansion known as No. 5, TauntonSquare.

Again and again I saw him pass the windows of the big house and lookin; again and again I saw him watching, from his corner, everyone whocalled either at[Pg 97] No. 10, Taunton Place, or at No. 5, Taunton Square.

After a time a well-dressed man walked up to No. 5, Taunton Square,knocked, and, when the door was opened, entered. He remained therefor twenty minutes, and when he came out was promptly followed by theshadower. The coast being thus clear, I left my own post, and on makinginquiries at a tavern where I called for a glass of beer, was toldthat No. 5, Taunton Square had recently been taken by a gentleman fromAmerica, named Carleton, a widower and reputed millionaire, who livedthere with his daughter, Kate, and his unmarried sister. Here againwas an interesting discovery which promised developments. The haplessParker had told me of seven millionaires who once a month repairedto a tavern in Shadwell, where they dined upon humble fare, drank"four half" out of pint pots, and smoked shag tobacco in clay pipes.It did not seem to be an improbable story, and, personally, I had asecret and sneaking sympathy—due possibly to my own low tastes—withanything which promised so complete and sensible a return to nature. Ihave myself partaken—not lavishly, perhaps,[Pg 98] but with gusto—of maltliquors, served in pewter pots in country taverns, have smacked my lips(another evidence of a debased nature), and have sat back in my chair,sighing with replete contentment, and possibly with an inner man byno means indifferently fortified by that excellent complement to goodbeer—bread and cheese. At such times I have called life good, and havefound myself in peace and charity with all my neighbours.

Did all self-made millionaires renew their youth, and remind themselvesof their struggling days, by becoming members of the club of whichParker had spoken, they would afterwards, I am persuaded, return to thescene of their splendour in a humble and chastened frame of mind, whichmight possibly prompt them to do something more permanent, and moresensible, for their less fortunate fellow creatures than the foundingof free libraries. I may add that I do not claim any copyright in theidea, and that should Mr. Andrew Carnegie be as assiduous a reader ofmy instructive writings as it is to be hoped a gentleman so interestedin the free circulation of sound literature should be, he need fear noaction for[Pg 99] infringement of copyright, should he be disposed to devotethe remainder of his—I fear—fast vanishing millions to such a purpose.

But to return to my story.

According to Parker's statement, the Dumpling, whose studies of naturalhistory had possibly led him to the conclusion that every creaturewhich comes into the world is so constituted that other and smallercreatures should prey upon it, had so far fallen in with the existingscheme of things as to decide to play the part of a plutocraticparasite. His plan was forcibly to kidnap a millionaire when on hisway to or from the Shadwell banquet, and to hold him to ransom for animmense sum, which was to go into the pockets of the Dumpling and hisaccomplices. The fact, then, that a shadower—presumably acting onbehalf of Dumpling and Company—was carefully watching the house of amillionaire, seemed not only to confirm the truth of Parker's story,but to point to the very man whom the Dumpling intended to kidnap andto bleed.

To trap a fox, it is of service to know upon which particularchicken-house he is concentrating his attention.

While Brer Fox Dumpling was engaged[Pg 100] in stalking and carrying off BrerRooster Millionaire, Brer Rabbit Rissler might, by keeping an eye uponBrer Rooster, succeed in learning the whereabouts of, and ultimately instalking and trapping, Brer Fox himself. For the moment the Dumpling'sshadower was off duty, as regards the watch he was keeping upon No. 10,Taunton Place and No. 5, Taunton Square; being engaged, as I had reasonto know, in following up the caller at Mr. Carleton's house.

Having satisfied myself that no understudy had come to take theshadower's place or to relieve guard, I jumped into the firstfour-wheeler that passed.

"Drive to No. 5, Taunton Square," I said to the cabby, "and when we arethere, get down and knock at the door. Meanwhile, I'll wait in the cabtill the door's opened, so that I can slip in at once. If anybody asksyou who I am and where you took me up, say at the Hotel Cecil, and thatyou think I'm on a company-promoting job, as you have driven me alreadyto the houses of half a dozen company-director millionaires. Here'shalf-a-crown—no, I'll make it two half-crowns, if you do as I tellyou, and hold your tongue."

[Pg 101]

With a nod and a grin he opened the cab-door and I got in. In less thantwo minutes we were at No. 5, Taunton Square, and the instant the doorof the house was opened, in reply to the driver's knock, I was out ofthe cab and had slipped inside and shut the door behind me, before theastonished flunkey could as much as ask my name.

"Is Mr. Carleton in?" I snapped. "I've got some very important news forhim, and must see him without a moment's delay."

I spoke authoritatively, even sharply, and in no way as a stranger whois unassured of his welcome.

"No, sir," the fellow answered respectfully. "He isn't in just now."

"When will he be?" I demanded.

"Well, sir, that's just what I can't say. If you'll take a seat in thelibrary, I'll ask Miss Kate if she has any news. She'll be——"

"Yes," I said peremptorily, "that'll do. Take me to her at once. Don'tdelay in sending up word. There's not an instant to lose. Take me toher straight."

Somewhat doubtfully, but scarcely liking to disobey one who spoke withso confident an air, the man led the way to a door at[Pg 102] the end of thehall, and was just about to knock when it opened, and I saw standingbefore me none other than my Lady of the Lake.

"Forgive this intrusion," I said, "but I bring you news of your father."

"I am relieved to hear it," she answered cordially, but quite coolly."It is very strange that he should neither have returned last night norsent a message. You are sure that he is safe and well?"

For the moment I was so taken aback that I faltered. Was I, then, toolate? Had the Dumpling already carried out his villainous purpose?Then, pulling myself together, I answered, cheerfully:

"Yes, he is safe and well—make yourself quite easy about that; and Iknow with whom he is staying. I will tell you all about it, if you willallow me."

"Please come in," she said.

"WHAT'S YOUR LITTLE GAME?"

Then she recognised me. Except for the fact that her face suddenlyflamed and then as suddenly hardened, her breeding stood her in goodstead, and with cold, clear eyes, which looked as indifferently intomine as if I had been a stranger calling to solicit a subscription tosome charity, she pointed me to a chair.

"You bring me news of my father?" she inquired, with a composure whichwas possibly assumed for my benefit, or, rather, for my discomfiture.

"That is why I am here," I answered, bowing gravely, and in my turnassuming an indifference which I strove to make as studied as her own.

"He is safe and well," I went on. "Of that let me assure youpositively. He is detained only upon a matter of business, and but forthe fact that other people, as well as himself, are concerned in it, hecould return, if he chose, this very night."

[Pg 104]

This much I said to allay her anxiety. That it was a diplomatic ratherthan an exact statement of the facts, I do not deny, but though I wouldunhesitatingly have told a lie to spare her, I was at least within thetruth in saying that the moment of Mr. Carleton's return lay entirelywithin his own choice, since, once he had consented to pay the ransomdemanded by the Dumpling—and the money, as well as the safety of hiskidnappers, was secured—Mr. Carleton would in all probability be setat liberty, and could then return, as I had said. Into the questionwhether he would or would not consent thus to be bled of a large sumof money, I had no intention of entering. The business before me wasto break the bad news as gently and as gradually as possible; and inbreaking bad news it does not always do to blurt out the undilutedtruth.

"Thank you," she said stiffly. "I wonder, in that case, that my fatherdid not communicate with me himself. Am I to understand that you arehis messenger? And am I to content myself with the bare knowledge, andonly on your assurance, that my father is detained on[Pg 105] business, andmay or may not return to-night?"

"That's as you choose, Miss Carleton," I made answer, somewhatfoolishly.

"You have the advantage of me, sir," she replied icily, "for, to thebest of my belief, you and I have never met before. Is that not so?"

It is a woman's prerogative to forget or to remember, as her instinctor her inclinations dictates, and, in view of the somewhat unusual andunconventional circ*mstances of our first meeting, I was by no meanssure that I did not like and admire her the more, rather than theless, for the way in which she had met the situation. Unhesitatingly Ifathered the lie, and with similar hardihood.

"That is so," I replied coldly.

Rightly or wrongly, I fancied that she softened slightly, so feelingthat I should do myself more justice if I told my story while hermanner was less freezing, I came to the point at once.

"May I tell you what I know, and how I came to know, of the businesswhich has detained your father?" I inquired. "I shall not keep you manyminutes."

"I shall be curious to hear it," she[Pg 106] answered, speaking moregraciously than hitherto, and, seating herself in a dark corner where Icould not see her face, she prepared to listen.

I told the thing well, better—though, of course, much morebriefly—than I have told it in these pages, for the excitement withwhich she listened, suppressed and controlled though it was, seemed tocommunicate itself to me. The only moment when she bristled, if I mayuse so inapplicable a word about so lovely a woman, was at the start.

"All that I have to tell has happened within the last twenty-fourhours," I began, "for only yesterday I was taking a country holiday,and, I fear, kicking up my heels like a mischievous colt who has brokenout of bounds, and is sadly in need of a sound whipping to teach himto behave himself. But," I made haste to get on, for the air aroundme seemed suddenly to turn chilly, "since then, short time ago as itis, I have had a 'breaking in,' and been made to answer to lash andspur, and to look death in the face, and to fight for my life, in soextraordinary a way, that my only fear is you'll not believe my storywhen you hear it."

[Pg 107]

Then I told of my recall to town, of my commission to visit the opiumden, and of the subsequent happenings up to the moment when I hadstepped out of the cab and into her house. As I brought my recital to aclose, the door opened, and a lumpy-figured, masculine-looking woman,hard-faced, large-featured, entered the room. Her skin was rough,red and grained like brick-dust, and on either cheek was a patch ofdarker red—almost of purple—which might have been put on by means ofa stencil plate, so hard, so abrupt, and so definite were the lineswhere it began or ended. An incipient moustache and a deep voice seemedto enter a protest, less against the petticoats she was wearing thanagainst her small and well-formed hands and feet.

"Clara!" she exclaimed menacingly, "who is this?"

Knowing that Miss Carleton's name was Kate, I was somewhat astonishedto hear her thus addressed, for it was not until later that I learnedthe facts. The elder lady, who was Miss Carleton's only aunt, hadfelt not a little aggrieved that her niece had not been called afterherself. So, by way of entering a protest against the omission[Pg 108] ofthe compliment which she felt ought to have been paid to her, andnotwithstanding Mr. Carleton's annoyance, and the fact that everybodyelse called the girl Kate, the elder lady insisted upon addressing herniece as Clara, as though the girl were actually her namesake.

"Clara!" she repeated. "Who is this?"

The rising remonstrant inflexion which she placed upon her niece'sname, and the way in which she said "Who is this?" her deep voicebooming like a three-peal bell, sounding first a high, then a low, andthen a deep bass growling note, took me so by surprise that I stared ather open-mouthed.

"This gentleman has brought me news of my father, aunt," replied Katetremulously. "He's afraid, I'm afraid, that father has been made aprisoner by blackmailers, and that he won't be released until money hasbeen paid for ransom."

"How absurd!" said the other lady, and in spite of the seriousness ofthe situation, it was as much as I could do to refrain from laughing,so irresistibly, so ludicrously, did her voice remind me of Mr. Penleyin Charley's Aunt.

[Pg 109]

Then, like a bell which pauses for a moment between its chimes, sheboomed again, "How very absurd!"

Miss Carleton turned appealingly to me. "Will you please tell my auntwhat you have just told me?" she said.

Haltingly and half-heartedly I repeated my story, the elder ladypursing up her fleshy lips, rolling her eyes, and indulging inlong-drawn sniffs, so plainly indicating an incredulity which was lostin admiration and wonder at its own magnificent power of control, thatI bungled the thing sadly, and was not surprised when, at the end ofthe narrative, she rose majestically from her chair, and rang a richpeal of warning and command.

"Clara, leave the room. I will join you, shortly."

She spoke as before, on one note, until she came to the last few words,when her voice suddenly dropped an entire octave, and then sank inrumbling silence, by falling, first one, and then another, note. This,I found, was her invariable way of speaking. In effect, it reminded meof a person walking with even step along a corridor, until he reachesa flight of stairs, down eight of[Pg 110] which he suddenly falls, at oneflight, recovering himself sufficiently, at the ninth, to rise andstalk majestically down the last two or three.

If, in the course of my story, I do not again allude to thispeculiarity, it will not be because she ever lost the mannerismin question, but because, the mannerism having already been fullydescribed, a repeated description of it in detail would, I fear, soonbecome wearisome. It is so much easier, so much cheaper, if I may usethe word, to caricature a mannerism than to indicate character—todescribe a personal eccentricity than to indicate a type—that I am nota little shamefaced at having written at such length regarding thispeculiarity of one of my characters. So marked a feature could not,however, be passed over in silence, for I do not recall one solitaryoccasion when she failed to drop her voice in the way I have describedwhen coming to the end of what she had to say.

Miss Carleton gone, her aunt, regarding me majestically, rang the bell.When the man-servant appeared, she pointed at me.

"I wish to confer with my niece, Metcalfe. Meanwhile, that person mustnot leave[Pg 111] the house or this room. If he attempts to do so, call up theother men-servants, and secure him."

With a warning glance at Metcalfe, and a glare at me, the good ladyleft the room.

She was away about twenty minutes. On returning she dismissed theservant, and seating herself, wheeled round in her chair, to turn allher batteries upon my unhappy self. Her voice was, I fancied, a shadeless stately, a shade sharper, a shade brisker, and more business-like:

"What's your little game?"

JOHN CARLETON'S BURGLAR ALARM.

I stared at her blankly.

"Game?" I said. "Game? I haven't any game. You've heard my story. It'sthe truth. I haven't anything else to tell or any game to play. What doyou take me for?"

"Rats!" she answered, shortly.

Then she strode over to a side table upon which lay a square box with abutton, like that of an electric bell.

"Have you ever seen one of these?" she inquired, pointing at it. "Itis my brother's own invention, and he is thinking of patenting it.When this button is pressed (there's one of the machines in eachroom), every door leading out of the house, and every window (theyare all of plate glass) by which it would be possible to escape, issimultaneously and automatically locked; a burglar alarm is set ringingin the kitchen, in the hall, and in all the men-servants'[Pg 113] rooms, aswell as in the stables; and by a particularly ingenious arrangement, ofwhich my brother is especially proud, communication is also establishedwith the nearest police station. Once inside the house, no thief, orburglar, if this button is pressed and the machinery is set going, canhope to escape, for he is as neatly trapped as any rat.

"Well, young man (I haven't been told your name), since it has leakedout that my brother is a millionaire and a philanthropist, every knowndodge in the begging-letter line and in the blackmailing line has beentried on us; but, for sheer brazenry, I must say that your tale beatsall. My niece believes in you—more fool she!—but I'll tell you what Ithink: every word that you have told us—except, perhaps, the fact ofmy brother having been kidnapped by this man you call the Dumpling—isan entire concoction; and if he really has been kidnapped as you say,why, you are clearly the kidnapper's accomplice, and have come here tosound us, and to pave the way for the abominable blackmailing which youcall holding to ransom. If any further proof of your confederacy withthe[Pg 114] blackmailer is needed, that proof is supplied by the facts whichmy niece has just made known to me. She tells me that only yesterdaymorning, when she and I were at my brother's country house, she foundthat someone had rowed out to the centre of the lake in our boat, and,supposing it was I who was in the boat and that I had fallen asleep,she swam out and found you in it. You were there, of course, in yourcapacity of spy and shadower to your employer, and in order to acquaintyourself with my brother's movements. It's a pity she didn't leave youto be drowned—not that you'll be that, for I clearly foresee anotherfate in store for you, and a less pleasant one. And now, if you please,I propose sending for the police. I wonder if they'll believe yourstory."

"No," I said smilingly, "they won't. I can tell you that before yousend, if it will be saving you any trouble."

"Ho! ho!" she said, triumphantly. "So you admit that I'm one too manyfor you. You're not such a fool as I thought. Anyhow, you're 'cuteenough to know when you're dealing with a clever woman. It's wise ofyou. If you had persisted in brazening[Pg 115] me out with that preposteroustale, you'd have been clapped between four walls this very night. Imean what I say. But I'm not a hard-hearted woman, and, by the look ofyou, you ought to be a cut above being the accomplice of criminals andblackmailers."

After a pause, during which she regarded me with a stern but notaltogether unfriendly eye, the good lady spoke again, this time almostpityingly:

"An accomplice of criminals and blackmailers! What brought you to it,young man? Drink—debt—gambling—or worse? Come, now, I don't want tobe hard upon you. Make a clean breast of it, and I'll do what I canto help you back to an honest life. You have already confessed thefalsehood of your story, and if——"

"I have done nothing of the sort," I interrupted indignantly. "My storyis perfectly true—every word of it; and if you'll let me——"

"Your story perfectly true!" she thundered. "Why, you told me just now,with your own mouth, when I was going to send for the police—and thatreminds me: I'll ring the bell and send for them now—that[Pg 116] you knewthey wouldn't believe it. If you're not the——"

"I know they won't believe it, because I've already told them," I cutin. "I see a telephone bell in the corner there. Ring up InspectorS——, of New Scotland Yard, or the Superintendent at —— Station,and ask them whether I haven't already been to them with the identicalstory. They don't believe me now, because they don't want to; but whenthe inquest is held and the facts come out, they'll find, and you'llfind, that every word I have said is perfectly true. Or," I added—forshe had actually rung the bell when threatening to send for the police,and the servant had come to the door in response—"or send out and buyan evening paper. You'll find the fact of the finding of the threebodies off Canvey Island, just as I have told you."

"You can go, Metcalfe," she said to the waiting servant. "I shan't wantyou at present."

Then she turned to me again.

"I don't know what to do," she said undecidedly. "If I let you go, andyour story turns out to be a lie, you'll have decamped of course whenyou're wanted. If[Pg 117] I hand you over to the police, you'll be in safekeeping and——"

"It will mean a night in gaol, if you give me in charge at this hour,"I interrupted, "in which case I shall certainly bring an action againstyou for false imprisonment."

"Yes," she said meditatively, walking over to a side-table and turningover some books as she spoke. "Yes, I suppose you would; and ifyour story is true I'm not sure that I should blame you if you did,for no one likes to be imprisoned when they've only told the truth.For the matter of that, I don't know that I shouldn't dislike thepublicity of an action for false imprisonment more than you'd dislikethe imprisonment; and my brother—there's no escape from thatfact—would be furious with me for getting my name and his into thepapers. I didn't believe a word of your story when I first heard it,but looking at you more closely, I must say that you don't look or talklike a liar, and I've a good mind to follow my instincts and trust you,after all."

The magnanimity of this sudden outburst of confidence in my integritywas somewhat[Pg 118] lessened by the fact that, while affecting to turn oversome books on the side-table, she had all the time been scanning anevening newspaper which lay neatly folded on the top of a pile ofbooks. I had purchased a copy of the same journal earlier in theevening, and was well aware that a paragraph, describing the findingof the three bodies, was printed in large type at the top of the firstpage. Folded as the paper was, this paragraph was the most prominentitem of news, and could scarcely fail to catch even a cursory eye.

Possibly the reading of the paragraph sufficiently confirmed my storyto assist her to a decision.

"Come here, young man. I want to have a look at you," she saidperemptorily, walking over to the light.

I obeyed, and for half a minute was subjected to the scrutiny of herkeen but not unkindly eyes.

"That'll do!" she said, pushing me away testily. "I'm going to make afool of myself; but anyhow, I'm going to trust you, fool or no fool.And now tell me what it is you want."

Some instinct told me that she was a[Pg 119] woman to gain whose confidenceone must give one's confidence. Looking her full in the face I madeanswer boldly:

"I want to marry your niece."

THE FACE AT THE BROKEN WINDOW.

Miss Clara sat down—perhaps I should say collapsed down. But for thefact that a huge Chesterfield stood immediately at her back, ready toreceive the fair burden of her charms, I am persuaded that her ultimatedestination would have been the floor. The suddenness of my statement"dropped" her as neatly as a good marksman "drops" his bird.

Sinking—"all of a flutter," as she afterwards described it, thusunconsciously confirming the aptness of my bird imagery—upon theChesterfield, this truly remarkable woman merely observed, "Well, Inever!" and then as speedily recovering herself, sat up and said,quietly:

"I knew there was something behind it all along."

This was said, I may observe, not in relation to the Chesterfield whichhad so fortunately been behind her, but to my story.

[Pg 121]

"Of course you did," I said. "Anyone could see that with half an eye.There are two things behind it. First, I want you to help me to marryyour niece, and second, I want to help you to get your brother out ofthe hands of these blackmailers."

In thus coupling our common interests, and in thus bespeaking, if notassuming, her assistance on my behalf, I was taking a good deal forgranted, but she did not seem to resent it.

"You have plenty of impudence, young man," she said, smiling grimly."You'll be wanting someone to help you to marry me next."

"That," I answered, "is the one regret I shall have, if I succeed inwinning your niece. It will prevent me from ever hoping to win theheart and hand (and what a pretty hand it is too!) of her charming andaccomplished aunt."

Then I told of my well-deserved ducking in the lake, admitting franklythat I had lied when I had said I could not swim, but pleading my causeand the excuses to be urged in my favour with all the eloquence at mycommand, and, judging by[Pg 122] her increasing friendliness, not altogetherwithout success.

"And now," I said, when I had made an end of it, "now about yourbrother and the kidnapping?"

"Yes," she replied, "we have to think of that. I expect you think thatboth Kate and I have taken it coolly, considering. But, you see, youdon't know my brother. If you did, you'd have very little fear abouthis being able to take care of himself, wherever he is. What do youpropose?"

"First of all," I said, "I'll ask you to ascertain whether the house isstill being watched. You are taking me very much on trust, and if itshould turn out that the shadower has returned to his post, or anothershadower has been put on duty, it will go a little way to confirm mystory, and to prove that I'm not altogether an impostor."

"I either trust people altogether, or don't trust them at all," sheanswered. "But you've been frank with me, so I'll tell you now that Ihaven't taken you so entirely upon trust as you imagine. There's anevening paper on that table which has an account of the finding of thebodies, just as you mentioned; and when I went upstairs[Pg 123] to speak to myniece, I took the opportunity to peep up and down the road from behindthe blinds. There is a man watching this house, and also a housesomewhere in Taunton Square, just as you said. It certainly is verycurious. Come in!"

The last two words were spoken in response to a knock. The door, whenopened, revealed Metcalfe with a telegram on a salver. She read theslip of orange paper quite coolly, and then passed it to me, saying,"From my brother."

It was as follows:—

Hope Kate and you not anxious last night. Letter I wrote earlyyesterday morning explaining was called to Glasgow on business notposted by oversight. Only just discovered it in my pocket. So sorry.May be away some days.—John.

"So, you see, he's safe enough," Miss Clara said, smiling. "Do youreally think you're right in thinking he is one of the millionairesthey want to kidnap? I admit it is a curious coincidence that someoneshould be watching the house."

"Perhaps I have jumped to conclusions somewhat," I said. "Butif someone is really watching the house again, I ought to be atwork, not wasting any more of[Pg 124] your time and my time by gossipinghere—especially as it turns out after all that Mr. Carleton is safe.If there is any back door I could slip out by, I think I'll eitherfollow the shadower myself, and see if I can't find out where he comesfrom, or perhaps even try to get New Scotland Yard to arrest him onsuspicion. He's the only clue I've got to the whereabouts of theDumpling, and it won't do for me to lose sight of him. What's thatnoise, I wonder, in the street? There's something amiss, clearly. Itwon't do for me to be seen leaving the house. Would you mind lettingyour servant inquire?"

"Certainly, if you wish it," she said, ringing the bell.

"Metcalfe, just find out what that disturbance in the street is," shesaid, when the man appeared, "and come back to report to me."

"I have been out to see already, m'm," Metcalfe answered respectfully."A man's been stabbed—killed, too. They say he's a brother of Mr.Grant the detective, who lives at No. 10, Taunton Place, and very likehim, and that a man who has been hanging about the street all daystabbed him[Pg 125] just as he was coming out of No. 10. Why he did it nobodyknows, unless the murderer's a criminal that Mr. Grant was after, andstabbed the brother, thinking it was the detective himself. And theworst of it is he's got away, too! But what's that?"

From the back of the house there came a sound that was suspiciouslylike the stealthy breaking of glass.

It so happens that I have extraordinary sharp hearing, and was ablewith some exactness to locate the direction whence the sound came.

Calling out "Follow me, Metcalfe!" I dashed down the stairs and througha door which led to a corridor, at the end of which was a conservatory.A cold wind indicated either an open door or window—perhaps a brokenwindow. As I raced along the corridor—the bewildered Metcalfe so farbehind me that I could hear his heavy steps descending the stairs—Isaw that though all the other plants in the conservatory were perfectlystill, one white-blossomed flower in a pot was swaying and moving as ifin a draught, and the next moment there peered, through a broken paneof glass behind it, the white and wicked face of the Dumpling.

MISS CLARA "SAVES MY LIFE."

One arm was stretched through the broken window towards theconservatory door, which he was trying to unlock; but seeing thatsomeone was approaching he withdrew his arm hurriedly, and the whiteface that had been peering through the jagged hole in the window-panedisappeared. The next instant I was at the conservatory door, all agogto unfasten it and to give chase, when suddenly, from every part of thebuilding, came the ringing of alarm bells, and, with a sharp click, abolt upon the conservatory door slid into its place. Clearly Miss Clarahad pressed the button of the burglar alarm, thus locking the verydoor to which my hand was then stretched, and so effectually shuttingme in, and a possible housebreaker out. With one twist of my fist Iturned the key to which the Dumpling had been directing his attention.Then I tried to slide back the only remaining fastening—the bolt whichhad been shot into its place[Pg 127] by the burglar alarm. It held fast,and cursing Miss Clara, her inventful brother, and his too ingeniousburglar box, I tugged at the door with all my strength, but to nopurpose. The thing would not budge an inch, and when I snatched up apiece of rockwork from a fernery and bashed desperately at the hatefulbolt, I only made matters worse. So far from loosening, the boltseemed only to set its teeth, bulldogwise, the more tenaciously for myblows. Grinning with rage, and with the strain of concentrating allthe strength of my body into my two fists, I threw down the rockwork,with a word I hesitate to repeat, but which Metcalfe, upon whose footthe piece of rockwork fell, had no hesitation in forcibly repeating,what time he limped upon one leg around the conservatory with a grinof pain upon his face more beautiful to behold than the grin which hadso recently been upon mine. For the present it was clear that, thanksto Miss Clara and the invention of her resourceful brother, the quarryhad escaped me. Long before I could have knocked out sufficient glassto crawl through the conservatory window, long before Miss Clara couldhave reversed the action of the machine[Pg 128] and so released the lock uponthe door, the Dumpling would be far away.

"THERE PEERED THROUGH A BROKEN PANE OF GLASS ... THEWHITE AND WICKED FACE OF THE DUMPLING."

Under the circ*mstances I thought it wise to put the best face I couldupon my defeat, delicately hinting at the same time to Metcalfe that Ishould be personally obliged if he would make it convenient to do thesame upon his pain, since much as one might admire a stone gargoylewhich bore a resemblance to a human face, a human face which bore astriking likeness to a stone gargoyle in pain was less admirable andmore alarming.

"And now," I said, "we'll return to the drawing-room and to Miss Clara,and get her to open the conservatory door so that we can search thegarden without delay."

The returning to the drawing-room was easier to speak of thanto accomplish, for the door, leading into the corridor from theconservatory, had been securely locked by the same fell agency whichhad so effectually interfered to prevent my giving chase to theDumpling; and it was some time before I could persuade the parties,on the other side, that the persons clamouring for entrance were notburglars or murderers, but only Metcalfe and myself.

[Pg 129]

After a word or two to Miss Clara, I returned, accompanied by Metcalfe,to the conservatory, and thence to the garden. As I had feared, allwas to no purpose. The broken window-pane was the only evidence ofour recent visitor, for though we scoured the place from end to end,we could not find as much as a footprint by way of a clue. Without awarrant from the police—which I had no possibility of obtaining—Icould not hope to explore the neighbouring garden, where it waspossible the Dumpling might still be concealed; so we returned,somewhat chapfallen, to the house. Miss Clara, who was awaiting us witha perturbed countenance, refused to share my dissatisfaction at theresult which had been brought about by her ill-timed action in settingthe burglar alarm at work.

"In all probability I saved your life," she said calmly. "A man likethat, who had just committed a murder, and no doubt had come here tocommit another, or to burgle the house, was tolerably sure to have beenarmed; and if you had been able to open the conservatory door and tofollow him out, he would in all probability have shot you at sight."

[Pg 130]

"I thought you said that all the windows were plate glass," I grumbled."If so, how did the man contrive to break that pane and to get an armthrough?"

"I said all the windows in the house," corrected Miss Clara. "Theconservatory isn't in the house, and no one could get into the house,from the conservatory, without passing through the corridor door,which, as you know, was fast locked, like the rest of the doors and thewindows, when I pressed the burglar bell.

"Well, you have done your best, Mr. Rissler. No man can do more. Weshall have the police here directly. They have been a long time incoming as it is, but I expect the entire staff is out hunting for themurderer of poor young Grant. What shall we do when they come?"

"Tell them the facts, of course," I said, "and let them see the brokenwindow-pane and examine the garden for themselves. If I hadn't supposedthey were already on the way here, and if I hadn't been in such a hurryto get out and search the garden, as not to give myself a moment tothink, I should have urged upon you the necessity of sending for thembefore. Hush! Was that a ring[Pg 131] at the front door? I think so. Verypossibly it is they."

It was—a sergeant and an ordinary constable, decent fellows, honestfellows, conscientious fellows, both of them, but not, I imagine,overburdened either of them with brains. Plainly they did not associatethe attempt to enter the house with the murder. The impression theygave was that they thought a mere alarm of burglary very small beerwhen compared with an actual murder. Miss Clara told them that whileshe and I were talking, we heard the sound of falling glass below,that I had gone down and had seen a man's face at a broken window. Sheexplained the circ*mstances which prevented me from following him, andadded that I believed the face to be that of a man respecting whom Ihad laid information at Scotland Yard that very morning.

The sergeant and the constable listened to Miss Clara's statementwithout excitement, and when she had made an end of it expressed awish to see the conservatory, the broken window and the garden, madea few notes, took my name and address, accepted readily the glass ofwhisky and water which Miss Clara suggested, but[Pg 132] declined with equalreadiness the half-crown which the same lady, by way of compensationfor the trouble to which she had put them, endeavoured to press intotheir hands, and remarking that they had done no more than their duty,wished us good-night and so departed.

Then I turned to my hostess and unfolded my own plans.

"To tell the honest truth, Miss Carleton," I said, "I was not at allanxious to be mixed up in this new development. I shall have more thanenough advertisem*nt at the inquest, which is to be held to-morrow, onthe three bodies found off Canvey, and if I am called as a witness atthe inquest which will have to be held on the body of young Grant—thepolice and the public will begin to think my connection with bothmurders somewhat suspicious. If I were to have followed my inclinationsI should have pretended that I was anxious to learn more of thecirc*mstances of young Grant's murder, and should have asked you to letme slip out to see if I could pick up any news, so as to be out of theway when the police called. But a murder, a brutal murder, has beencommitted, and though I am still[Pg 133] smarting from the undeserved snubbingI received when I called at Scotland Yard this morning, I should feelthat I was behaving not only like a bad citizen, but as little lessthan a criminal, were I to keep back anything which would assist thepolice in their search. And now, may I get on to something else whichI very much wish to say? The fact that the face I saw at the brokenwindow was that of the Dumpling, is to me very significant. It is, youmust admit, a strong confirmation of the theories I have formed, and ofwhich I have already told you. Why did I watch Grant's house? Becauseif the Dumpling believed Grant to be alive, I was tolerably sure hewould lose no time in putting Grant out of the way. What was the resultof my watching? This—that I found someone was watching Grant's house,and not only Grant's house, but this house as well. Then came thequestion, Why was he watching this house? I knew from Parker that theDumpling had planned to kidnap certain millionaires, and to hold themto ransom. Hearing on inquiry that your brother was a millionaire, Ithought it not unlikely that it was he who was to have been kidnappedlast night. I think[Pg 134] so still, but I am inclined to believe that myappearance at the opium den upset the calculations of the conspirators,and so prevented them from carrying out their plans. They are stillwatching this house, however. Why? Because they are waiting for yourbrother's return so that they may learn his movements, and lay theirplans accordingly.

"Then came the murder of young Grant. It may have been, or it may nothave been, the work of the Dumpling and his accomplices. Personally, Ihaven't a moment's doubt that it was so. While all the neighbourhood ishunting for the murderer, a man tries to remove a pane of glass in yourconservatory. Who is this man? Is he a burglar who, with no connectionwhatever with the murder, has chanced to choose this particular nightto break into your house? I don't think so. He could hardly havefailed to hear that a murder had just been committed in your immediateneighbourhood, and if so, would he be fool enough to select the verynight when he knows the police will be wide awake and on the watch?Not likely. If he had been an ordinary burglar, he would have had his[Pg 135]diamond with him, and would have cut out, not broken, that pane ofglass. The man who broke the glass was a fugitive, and in desperatestraits.

"Possibly he thought that at this hour of the night no one would belikely to come into the conservatory, and that he could lie in hidingtill the hue and cry had passed. Possibly he hoped to slip through thehouse unobserved, and so make his way into the street from the front,in order to disarm suspicion. A man who had just committed a murder wasnot likely to walk boldly out of the front door of such a house as this.

"But why did the Dumpling hit upon this particular house? Was it bychance, and because it was the first which came handy when he managedto evade his pursuers by scaling a wall and lying in hiding, while theywent by? I don't think so. That he did escape by scaling a wall I havevery little doubt; but I believe that he made his way to the housedeliberately, and with set intention. It is quite clear to me that hehas designs of some sort upon this house or upon its master. Even ifthe design were no more than a burglary, you may be tolerably sure thatso clever a criminal as[Pg 136] he doesn't attempt to burgle a house withoutfirst acquainting himself with the position of the different rooms,and all the difficulties which would be presented in getting in and ingetting out. My belief is that the Dumpling chose this house for hishiding-place deliberately. Upon this house, for some reason of his own,he is keeping a watch, and it is from this house that I must set mycounter-watch for him. I have a strange presentiment that it will notbe long before we shall see him here again. Someone—something—thereis in this house upon whom, or upon which, he has designs. It may beits master; it may be only its master's money. To-night, if you will beso good, so very good, Miss Carleton, as to trust me thus far, I wantto conceal myself in the garden. If nothing comes of it, no harm isdone. If any attempt is made to enter, I shall be there to frustrate itand to give the alarm. You perhaps think my request a strange as wellas a foolish one. But listen. Whether the man, looking in at the brokenwindow-pane of the conservatory, recognised me—whether he even sawme at all, I do not know. But I saw him, and for one second's space,before the white face of him disappeared,[Pg 137] I not only saw him, butlooked him full in the eyes. And in that second I saw something else.As in a dream-tableau, I saw that same man creeping stealthily, and atthe darkest, deadest hour of the night, towards the same window, andthrough the same garden."

MY FRIEND THE DUMPLING.

Romantic, Miss Clara may or may not have been; superstitious shecertainly was not. For some reason of her own she had formed a notunflattering opinion of my intelligence—an opinion which, I fear, myreference to these dream-tableaux did not a little to shake. And whenMiss Clara thought poorly of a person or of a thing, she said so with adirectness which was somewhat disconcerting. Her comment on the wordswith which I closed my last chapter was:

"Mr. Rissler, don't be a fool!"

"I try not," I said lamely. "What's the particular folly of mine youhave in mind at the present moment?"

"Why, this dream-tableau business, of course," she answered. "You're nofool—quite the contrary—in most respects; but I've no patience withthis nonsense about dream men kneeling on your chest in a dream garden.If you've got anything on your chest, you should look after your[Pg 139]digestion—not talk about your dreams. And that reminds me. I generallytake a glass of hot milk and a biscuit before going to bed. If you aregoing to sit up out of doors all night in the garden, as you propose,you'll want something more substantial. Oblige me by ringing that bell.I suppose you smoke," she said, when I had made a substantial supper."If so, you may. My brother's a great smoker, so you need have noscruples.

"What I like about you," she continued, when I had lit up in accordancewith her permission, "is that you're a young man who can make up hismind. To tell me, within the first half-hour you'd ever seen me, thatyou wanted to marry my niece when you'd only seen her once before, wasabout as brazen a piece of impudence as I've ever heard of. But I'drather a man should be that sort than one of your 'Oh, I'm sure I don'tmind which' and 'I haven't any choice in the matter' kind of person."

"I count myself fortunate in the possession of your good opinion, MissCarleton," I said with a bow.

"None of your blarney!" she answered gruffly. "Not that I mind a personbeing[Pg 140] pleasant-spoken and pleasant-mannered," she added, "althoughHeaven knows I'm rough enough in ways and in speech myself. There'ssomething waiting on the tip of your tongue to say. What is it?"

"There is, but your penetration alarms me," I said. "It was merely towonder whether I might venture to inquire where your niece has been allthis while, and during all these disturbing events?"

"You may. She's in her own room. I told her to stay there till I calledher down. I sent up word to her not to be alarmed, before I rangthe burglar bell. That's why it didn't go off before you got to theconservatory door. If I'd rung when you left the room as I should havedone except for alarming Clara, you would not have got further than thecorridor door."

"That was very dear and considerate and thoughtful of you," I replied."I'm going to be very fond of you, if you'll let me, before I've done,Miss Carleton."

"Done what?" she asked grimly, but not ill-pleased.

"This cigar," I replied promptly. "I suppose you thought I was goingto say before I'm your nephew-in-law; but, hasten[Pg 141] that happy dayas I would—and it cannot come too soon for me—it would seem aninterminable long time to wait, if I had to put off being fond of youtill then. I suppose I shan't be seeing Miss Kate again to-night."

"You'll not!" she answered bluntly. "And if you call her Kate insteadof Clara, you'll not be seeing her at all, if I have anything to dowith it, for call people out of their right names, no one shall, whileI can help it."

The logic of a lady who, in spite of the fact that she persistentlycalled her own niece out of the name which had been given the girl ather christening, the name by which everyone else, from her own fatherdownwards, habitually called her, yet could thus lay down the law, wastoo fearful a thing for a mere male to contemplate, so I smiled weakly,and said, "I beg your pardon! 'Miss Clara,' I meant, of course. Howsilly of me!"

Incidentally I made a note in my memory to the effect that the best wayout of the dilemma would be, when speaking of my Lady of the Lake, torefer to her as "your niece," or as "Miss Carleton."

[Pg 142]

"No," said Miss Clara, philosophically, and with the air of one who,not expecting too much from fallen human nature, is always ready to betolerant, and to make allowance; "no, I don't say, and I don't see,that it is silly of you. That is too severe a word, and the mistake isnot unnatural on your part, when you remember that her own father madeit twenty years ago, and has gone on doing it ever since."

As she spoke the clock struck eleven.

"Is it so late?" I said. "I had no idea. Now, with your permission,Miss Carleton, I'll be off to the garden. I shall never forget yourgoodness to me to-night—taking me on trust, as you have, wheneverything was against me, and making me feel, now that I am about tosay good-night, as if I were saying it, not to one who an hour or soago was a complete stranger to me, but to a dear and kind and generousfriend. How shall I ever thank you?"

"Don't try," she said laconically, rising. "Good-night."

I sprang to open the door for her, stooping low to raise to my lips thesurprisingly small and white and well-formed hand which she extended tome.

[Pg 143]

"And now," I said to myself, when she had gone, "now for my vigilin the garden. In my dream picture only a night ago, I saw myselflying on my back, the man I am seeking kneeling over me, knife inhand. The place where this happened I could not see. But to-night,in another dream picture, I saw the same man crouched low to stealby dead of night through a garden. I wonder whether that garden andthe place of my first dream are one and the same? I wonder whetherit was good fortune or an evil fate which guided my feet to theopium den yesterday, and brought me and that same man to this houseto-night? I wonder whether he or I have met and striven in this or insome pre-existent world? I wonder why it is that only when looking inhis eyes do I see these pictures which come and go so strangely inmy brain? But most of all, I wonder whether I might venture to ringthe bell, and ask the gentle Metcalfe to bring me a drink. All this'wondering' and this 'whethering' makes me feel not only uncommonlydry, but also more like the hero who never was on sea or land except inthe pages of a shilling shocker, or in a melodramatic play, than[Pg 144] likean ordinary, everyday young man who fancies that a pipeful of tobaccotaken in conjunction with liquid refreshment in the shape of a stiff'whisky,' would suit his complaint down to the ground. Anyhow, I'lltry. Then for the garden, for my dream picture, and possibly for ourfriend and enemy, the Dumpling!"

THE GHOST IN THE GARDEN.

The place selected in which to keep my watch had, I imagine, beenintended by the builder for a coal-cellar; but from the fact that thewalls of thick cement were set around with shelves, partitioned intosquares, I concluded that some subsequent tenant had seen fit to turnit into a wine-cellar. One entered from the garden, and passing downa few stone steps, came to a wooden door like that of a coal-cellaror tool-house, opening upon a short passage, the walls of which wereevenly cemented. At the end of this passage another door—of iron thistime, and fitted with a patent lock—had been added; and, as it didnot seem likely that anyone would trouble to protect garden tools orcoals by the addition of an extra door, such as one sees in a strongroom or on a safe, the presumption was, as I say, that the place hadbeen intended for the storage or the laying down of wine. But whateverits purpose, it made a[Pg 146] serviceable sentry-box, for by leaving the twodoors open I could command a view of the garden. Seeing by the light ofa vesta, which I struck on entering, that a naked gas-jet was fixed tothe wall, and finding that the gas was laid on, I lit it for a momentor two while I had time to look round. Had I chosen to keep the innerdoor shut, I could have left the light burning all night, and with nofear of its gleam being seen from outside. But in that case I could nothave kept the necessary eye upon the garden; so, after I had turned anempty champagne case into a somewhat uneasy and uncomfortable seat, Iput out the light, and, opening both doors wide, sat down to commencemy watch.

One!

Two!

Three!

"Three o'clock and a wet night!" I said to myself, yawning wearily."The policeman, whom I've just heard pass, isn't likely to get wetfeet, judging by the thickness of the boots he's wearing. I wonder howhe manages to walk like that? One might think he did it purposely, to[Pg 147]warn the gentle burglar to lie low while law-and-order is passing.First of all comes his heel with a flick, and then the flatof his foot with a flack, like the double beat of a flail.Flick-flack, flick-flack, flick-flack!

"But perhaps I'm blaming the poor man without a cause. It may be thatit is only because we hear the policeman's tramp, sounding and echoingon an empty pavement, that we think it peculiar; and possibly my ownfootfalls could as readily be recognised were they heard at night, whenother sounds are still.

"Now he's stopped. Trying a door or window perhaps. Now he's on themove again. Flick-flack, flick-flack, flick-flack! It seems tome that, listening here as I am, I could locate his whereabouts alldown the street. All down the street, did I say? Yes, and down the nextstreet, and the street after that, if one wished to do so. I'm sure Idon't. All I want now is to see this thing through, and to get home toa cold bath and a bed. And it won't be long now, for very likely thatis Robert's last beat down this way for the night—or, rather, for themorning.

"Was that something stirring at the[Pg 148] end of the garden? Another cat,I expect. How that other brute made me jump—creeping in upon me sostealthily that I didn't know it was there, till I saw its horribleeyes, glaring at me like a ghost out of the dark!

"Here's another yawn coming. Y-a-a-a-a-ow!

"There's another yawn gone, and I seem to see quite a procession ofyawns looming up before me. What a queer place it is—this thread ofterritory, which I call 'Half-Awake-Land'! It's a sort of boundaryline—no more—between Dream-Land and Waking-Land, and as one can'tstand on a boundary line, any more than one can stand on a stretchedthread, I keep tumbling in and out, first into Dream-Land and then intoWaking-Land all the time. One of the funny things about Half-Awake-Landis that all one's thoughts turn into pictures.

"When I yawned a few minutes ago, I said to myself that I saw 'quitea procession of yawns looming up before me,' and then, as I say, mythoughts turned into pictures, and the earth, as far as ever I couldsee, seemed to have as many cracks or crevasses in it as a newlyploughed field has furrows.[Pg 149] As I looked each crack yawned open, likethe huge mouth of some rude person who gapes in your face, withouthaving the decency even to gape behind his hand, so that the worldseemed to wrinkle away to the horizon's edge in a thousand openedmouths.

"Then all of a sudden I saw a great Sleep-Sea in front of me. All thewaves upon it were yawns, and they came rolling in upon me, one afterthe other, till I feared I was going to be carried off my feet by abigger yawn than any of the others, and so washed away and drowned.

"What a farrago of nonsense, half-soliloquy, half sleep-talking, I'vebeen thinking or speaking—I hardly know which. Hullo! Nodding again!This won't do! If it hadn't been that I'm sitting up, instead of lyingdown, I should have dropped right off to sleep that time. I was nearlyoff my seat, as it was. It was the forward lurching of my head and bodywhich woke me, and the jerk seemed sharp enough to snap one's backboneat the neck, not to speak of making one's heart jump inside one, like afrightened frog. What tricks one's brain plays in a moment's snatchedsleep! Three[Pg 150] seconds ago I was awake and talking about one's thoughtsturning into pictures when one is half-awake and half-asleep. Afterthat I reminded myself that I must keep awake, lest the Dumpling shouldsteal in upon me unawares. Then I suppose that for a second's space Idropped off; and again the thought turned into a picture in my brain.I was sitting, just as I am now, looking at the incandescent burner ofthat lamp-post in the side street to the right of the garden. And thatreminds me. It's a strong light, and if I don't get a little fartherback it is just possible that I might be seen by anybody who lookedover the wall at the garden's end. That's better! No one could see mehere; I'm well in the shadow. Yes, I was sitting here, blinking, as Isay, at the incandescent light on the lamp-post, and as I sat I sawa black object, like the crouched figure of a man, creeping along inthe shadow of the wall. It was the over-wrought brain playing tricksagain—projecting out of itself the picture of the person of whom onehad been thinking, so that one could easily believe that what one sawwas the actual flesh-and-blood person himself. I'm morally sure I shallfall asleep in dead earnest if I sit[Pg 151] here any longer. I think I'llsteal outside for a moment or two, if only to stretch my legs, and toshake off the drowsiness which is coming over me."

Very lightly and on tip-toe I crept out—to receive a sudden,sickening, crushing blow, which brought me blinded, and with the bloodrunning down into my eyes and mouth, to my knees.

THE MAN WITH GORILLA ARMS.

The only wonder is that I wasn't killed outright, as would havehappened had my antagonist been as tall as I. But enormously strongas the Dumpling was, my superior height saved my life. He had struckat me with a life-preserver heavily loaded with lead, but being manyinches less in stature than I, he had struck short. Hence the blowwhich, had it taken me directly on the head, as intended, would havemade a very batter-pudding of my brains, did no more than inflicta nasty skin-wound, more of a graze than a gash, above one temple.Even had the blow fallen directly on my shoulder, I should in allprobability have been disabled for the rest of my life. Luckily forme, however, the loaded life-preserver barely scraped, instead ofsmashing, my shoulder-blade, and though for the moment I fell—dazedand blinded by my own blood—to my knees, my hurts were by no meansserious. As[Pg 153] I lay, half stupefied by the suddenness of the attack andby the blow, yet not too stupefied to forget to shield my head, lestmy antagonist should strike again, I was seized around the waist, byarms so abnormally long and strong that they were more like those ofa gorilla than of a man, and was carried swiftly to the cellar. Tosay that unconsciously I feigned unconsciousness may seem a queer wayof describing what followed; but it is a fact that I lay, apparentlyas lifeless, on the cellar floor, as if I had been a spider, shammingdeath in the presence of an enemy. And this I did automatically as faras I can remember, without knowing why I did it.

"I hope he isn't dead, poor devil!" said the Dumpling aloud, tohimself, and in a tone of voice which, in view of the fact that mydeath was the fact he had a few moments before had in view, and had,indeed, done his best to compass, struck me as unnecessarily anxious.His methods reminded me somewhat of modern warfare, in which we firstdo everything in our power to put a bullet into a man, by means of agun, and then do everything in our power, by means of good surgery, toget it out.[Pg 154] It always seems to me that—since once we have wounded aman, our chief anxiety is to restore the status quo by healinghis wound—the desired end might be attained, and the status quoestablished, by means considerably less expensive to ourselves andundoubtedly less painful to him.

"I hope he isn't dead," muttered the Dumpling again, laying me downwith surprising gentleness. "It's one of the servants, I suppose, whohas been ordered to be on watch all night in case there's a secondattempt to break into the house, and I have no quarrel with him."

As he spoke I suddenly seized him by the legs and toppled him over,fastening on him like a bulldog the instant he was down. From the firstit was clear that I was wholly outmatched, and had no chance. I had himon his back, one knee on his chest, and my hands at his throat; but heput up his two hands very much in the same indifferent way in whichhe would have gone to work to fasten—or to unfasten—a collar-stud,and taking my two wrists, one in each of his fists, he forced themapart, and away from his neck, as easily as a clamp or a vice opens orshuts by the[Pg 155] twisting of the screw. As if to show his strength, heheld my two hands powerless, thus, for a few seconds, and then with acontemptuous laugh he swung me away from him and aside, as easily asa man, who is teaching a child to jump, swings the little one from achair to the floor.

What followed I have never ceased to regret. The man had had it in hispower, then and there, to strangle me as I lay. With an antagonistwhose arms were, as I have said, as long and as strong as a gorilla's,and whose hands held one in a grip of iron, it was useless—athleticand muscular as I am—to struggle. I was as a child in his grasp;and, remembering that he had—whether from a contempt which was morecruel than a blow, or from some instinct of chivalry which made himdisdainful of so puny an opponent—set me free of his own accord,and, in a sense, thrown my liberty in my face, remembering all this,I am ashamed to record what followed. The only point to be urged inmy excuse is that I was beside myself with wounded vanity and by thehumiliation which had been put upon me—I was about to have written bythe humiliation of my defeat; but defeat[Pg 156] comes after a contest, andbetween him and me there had been, thus far, as little appearance ofcontest as there is when a strapping nursemaid takes a naughty childacross her knees, and, in spite of the culprit's tears and kicks,administers the necessary number of smacks. Whether what I have urged,in extenuation of what I did, will be accounted any excuse by thereader, I cannot say; but the fact remains that, mad with impotentanger, and burning for some sort of revenge, I rose to my feet andstruck him, unprepared as he was, full in the face, and with all mymight.

With a snarl like that of a wild beast he closed with me, and for afew seconds—for my fury seemed temporarily to endow me with a giant'sstrength—we rolled over and over, each striving to pin the other tothe ground.

Even at this distance of time, as I seek to recall that moment, I canwell believe that the bloody, bestial savagery of the fight—except forthe short, gasping, hissing intaking and expulsion of breath, we foughtin silence—might have turned a possible onlooker sick with loathingand disgust. But it was soon over. The strain I had put[Pg 157] upon myself,when first grappling with him, was too terrific to last. My strengthsuddenly failed me, and I fell backward, his fingers upon my throat.

In our struggle we had worked our way out of the cellar and into thepassage which led to the garden, and, as I went crashing backward,I saw for one instant, by the light from the lamp-post in the sidestreet, that his right hand was already at his hip-pocket in searchof a knife. The next instant he was kneeling on my chest, the knifeupraised to strike—just as I had foreseen in the dream-tableau. Ashe bent over me to get a yet firmer grip upon my throat, the yellowlamp-light fell across my face. Out of his face, which had now turnedwhite and haggard, the blood-fury seemed suddenly to die.

"My God!" he gasped. "It's Grant the detective—and I've killed thewrong man!"

Then there came into his eyes a look which, seeing it again in dreamseven now, years after, makes me awake with a cry, to find the coldperspiration from my forehead running down into my eyes, my limbstrembling and my heart leaping like a frightened creature.

[Pg 158]

"I've got you at last, Grant, have I!" he said, in a voice of coldand slow and deadly calmness. "Just now—seeing him go in and out ofyour house, and, striking in the dark, as I did—I killed a man whom Ibelieved to be you. But there can be no mistake this time. I've got younow, and this time"—he took a firmer grip of the knife—"this time, Irather guess you're going to die."

I PLAY THE CRAVEN.

Then I played the craven. It is useless to say any more. It is idle tourge an excuse. I played the craven, and pleaded to the man at whom, afew minutes before, when he was unprepared, and after he had spared mylife, I had struck a cowardly blow.

"Don't strike!" I gasped. "I'm not Grant—Grant is dead. I've seen hisbody. I'll tell you about it, if you'll not strike."

"This," he said—almost drawled—in slow, deliberate accents, "is veryextraordinary and most interesting. I won't promise to spare your life.But I'll hear your tale. I'll promise nothing else, young man, whoeveryou are, till I've heard you out."

My momentary panic was over. Already I was beginning to feel ashamed ofmyself. Already the manhood which had deserted me was returning.

"Stop a moment," I said. "I won't have my life on false pretences. Ilost my nerve just now and played the coward;[Pg 160] but, please God, I'llplay the man again. I'm not Grant, it is true, and Grant is dead; butI'm your enemy, and I meant and mean to hunt you down. So knife me nowif you want to, but before you do so, I'd like to ask your pardon forstriking you, after you'd spared my life, and when you were unprepared.It was a cad's blow—a coward's blow—and I am ashamed of it."

I stopped short, red-faced and choking. He gave an uneasy, abruptlaugh, and, rising, put back his knife.

"Get up!" he said; "I guess you mean playing the game fairly. As forthe bit of a blow, we'll say no more about it. Perhaps I deserved it.It does not do to think an opponent's beaten and means throwing up thesponge too early in the game. For what happens after I've heard yourstory—whether I kill you, as kill you I assuredly can this moment andin this place—I promise nothing till I've heard you out. This much,however, I will say. You tell me you are my enemy, and that you meantand still mean hunting me down. Well, that's straight talk, and I'llsay this much of straight talk to you in return. If you are my enemyonly, I wouldn't and couldn't kill you for[Pg 161] any reason under the sun.If you're the enemy of the cause I have at heart, I'd find you out andkill you though all Scotland Yard itself acted as your bodyguard andprotector. That's the state of the market, young man. First of all,let me ask you whether that yarn you spun in the opium den about yourhaving come there by chance as an author in search of copy was true?"

"Every word of it," I answered.

"Well, now, tell me what you have been doing since, and how you cameto be in this house, and in this garden. I have got to know, and itwill go better with you, if you tell me with your own lips, than if youforce me to find it out for myself, as I most assuredly shall. I don'twant to kill you. It is horrible to me to have to take a life—unlessthe safety of the cause is concerned, and then I'd kill you or anyoneelse as unconcernedly—much more unconcernedly than I'd kill asuperfluous litter of kittens brought into the world by the family cat."

Doubt his sanity I might and did, but of his seriousness and sincerityI was in no sense sceptical. If I refused to speak, the chances werethat I should not be allowed to leave the place alive. In the matterof[Pg 162] personal strength, I was hopelessly outmatched, and as my revolverhad dropped out of my hand when I had received the blow which felledme, and had been secured by him, I was, save for a pocket-knife,entirely unarmed.

All things considered, to tell him my story seemed the best courseto pursue. He would learn very little that mattered or that he couldnot find out without me; whereas it was quite possible that if, inreturn, I could induce him to speak of the "cause" to which he was sowarmly attached, and in the interests of which he was ready to stop atnothing, I might, on the contrary, learn something which would be verywell worth the knowing.

"I'll tell you my story," I bargained, "if you in return will tell mewhat is this cause which you say you have at heart. Who knows that itmight not be a cause with which I myself sympathise, and might wish tobefriend?"

"I agree," he said quietly. "But first I think we'll shut the door andhave a light. I've been in this place before. If I can help it, I neverenter any place without finding out all I can about it beforehand.[Pg 163]There's a gas-jet, and if you'll wait a moment, I'll light it. It can'tbe seen from the outside."

Commencing with the invitation to write an article on the opium den, Ivery briefly narrated what had befallen me, keeping back nothing exceptmy love for Kate, and the fact of the dream-tableaux, neither of whichseemed to me to come within my bargain.

He listened without a comment, though he now and then interpolated apointed question. When I had done, he lit a cigarette, and began topace backward and forward.

"Mr. Rissler," he said abruptly, after a short silence, "were you everpoor?"

"Ever poor?" I laughed. "If you had asked me if I were ever rich, Imight, by thinking hard, remember a time when I had a few pounds inhand. But ever poor? My dear sir, I can't recall a time when I was everanything else."

He nodded gravely.

"I have heard your story. Now listen to mine. I'm not without hope ofenlisting your sympathy. Not for myself: I need, and will have, thesympathy of no man; but[Pg 164] for the cause for which I fight, for which Ihope and believe I shall be able to persuade you to fight. My motherwas a poor woman—a woman of the people; my father—my God! the ironyof it—a gentleman. He was, if the truth were known, something morethan a gentleman. We are all gentlemen to-day, or think we are, andone has to make a distinction. He was more than a gentleman. He wasan aristocrat. He was more, even, than an aristocrat; but we will nottalk further of that now. She was my mother, but not his wife. Shewas the mother of his child, and he left her and her child to starve.We did not starve; but I pass over those years. When I was ten, shebroke down, worked out, worn out, wearied out. Then I took over herburden. No matter what my work, no matter who my employer. There arethousands of such employers as he; there are millions of such workersas I—workers whom no law protects. You may not be cruel to a cator dog; you may not over-work a horse. These are offences which arepunishable by law. But your fellow-men and fellow-women, your clerk,your shop-assistant, your warehouse-man—these you may starve, sweat,over-work,[Pg 165] underpay, these you may do to death if you like, and noneshall say you nay. The sweating, the over-work, and the underpay arethe least of the evils they endure.

"The one and only aim of most employers is making money. And 'making'money means taking money, the money which is the rightfulproperty of others—means, in point of fact, swindling. But a goodbusiness man is shy of swindling his customers. The customer is a freeagent. If he discovers he is being swindled he will take his customelsewhere, and loss of custom means loss of money, which will not suityour business man. So he must needs look for somebody else to sweat andswindle—somebody who cannot take himself elsewhere at choice; and inninety-nine cases out of a hundred, the somebodies are the unfortunateemployees. They must be made to do the greatest possible amount ofwork at the least possible rate of pay. And that they be compelled toendure this wholesale blood-sucking and robbery, they must of necessitybe kept in a state of subjection, of fear, of slavery, and bondage.All feeling of independence, of having a soul or a conscience to calltheir own, must be taken from them.[Pg 166] They are the chattels of theirmaster, the creatures of his will, depending—they and their wife andchild, if wife or child there be—upon his whim and pleasure for theroof which covers their head, for the clothes they wear, for the veryfood which keeps body and soul together. Let them once feel any senseof independence—let them once feel that they can obtain shelter andclothes and food at the hands of another employer, and they will nolonger consent to be sweated and robbed, underfed, underpaid, andoverworked.

"There are several ways of bringing the unhappy employees to this stateof servile subjection. One is to browbeat, to bully, and to intimidate,till their nerve be gone and their spirit be broken. But why stand it,you ask? Why not throw off these chains, and seek work at the handsof some employer who is considerate and just. The reason is that suchan employer is not easy to find, and, when found, the chances are ahundred to one against his having a vacancy on his staff.

"Every man in a situation knows that there are thousands out, andthat, were he to resign his post, it would be filled,[Pg 167] almost at amoment's notice, and at any wage which an employer chose to offer. Suchknowledge as that gives pause to the man who is minded to assert hisindependence, for out of his meagre salary it is almost impossible tosave; and to be out of work even for a week or two, with nothing tofall back upon, means not only starvation for him and his, but meansthat every week he is out, the longer is he likely to remain so. Itmeans shabby clothes; for how, without money, can he buy new clothesto keep up the appearance which is of so much importance to him whenapplying for a post? It means that in an incredibly short time hebegins to look shabby and broken-down—begins to look, in fact, likeone of life's derelicts, and, of life's derelicts, employers are apt tofight shy.

"Another reason why a man hesitates to throw off his chains is thatsome employers have been known to refuse a character to the clerk orassistant who has asserted his independence, and the independence ofhis class, by discharging himself; and at the man who comes seekingwork, without a 'character,' no other employer will look. For anemployee to dare to prove that he[Pg 168] has been overworked and underpaidby discharging himself, and finding new employment, where the work isless and the rate of pay higher, would be an example (your employerargues) which would demoralise the whole staff. Such a state of thingsapproaches to sacrilege, blasphemy, anarchy. It must not be permitted.Of the man who dares so to act, so to set employers as a class atdefiance, an object-lesson must be made, lest so dangerous an exampleinfect the workers who remain. I have known cases where, to such a man,not only has a character been refused, but where a trumped-up chargeof theft, or insubordination, or other misconduct, has been broughtagainst him, that he and his fellow-slaves may be taught the salutarylesson that, against Capital, Labour has no chance; against theemployer, the employee has no appeal. It is slavery, a thousand timesworse than that of the Chinese coolies about which some good folk havesuch tender consciences.

"In England we do not flog our white slaves. We only break theirnerves, crush their spirit, and bully the manhood out of them. Two ofmy fellow-workers went[Pg 169] out of their minds; one of us took his ownlife. You look incredulous—you think that sort of thing uncommon. Theyhaven't enough mind left, most of them, to go out of it, so abject andcringing and timid do they become; and they haven't enough pluck leftin them—broken-spirited as they are—to take their lives. So they onlydie, the weakly ones, or drag out their wretched lives, the strongones, in daily terror of being discharged and of being thrown homeless,moneyless, to starve upon the streets. Perhaps to starve, and so tomake an end of it, would be the best thing that could happen to them.For many employers, in addition to the sweating, encourage a systemwhich leaves their employees with less spirit to call their own than adog, less soul in their wretched bodies than a worm.

"In many business houses a system of espionage is established by whichthe wretched workers are encouraged to sneak and pry and play thecut-throat upon each other. If your fellow-slave gets two shillings aweek more than you get, and you can detect him in a moment's slackness,a single mistake, and report it to the employer, it is possible[Pg 170] thatthe poor wretch may be discharged and you may get his post and hisextra pay. But you, in your turn, know that the man immediately belowyou is watching you greedily and in the same way, lest you, also,be guilty of a slip or an omission that, by reporting the matterto his principals, he may work you out, as you had worked out yourpredecessor, and so he may slip into your vacant shoes and your pay.

"It is a system of infamy—a system which breeds men and women who arelower in the scale of being than a louse. You think I exaggerate. Butdo you know what it is to wake up each morning so weary that you hadscarce the strength to struggle up that you might go forth to work forthe day's bread?

"I do, and so do tens of thousands in this London to-day.

"Do you know what it is to be so broken of spirit, so weary of thecringing and the fawning, as to feel, each morning, that if deathhad come to you in the night, and so spared you this waking, you hadcounted it a happy release?

"I do, and so do tens of thousands in this London to-day.

[Pg 171]

"And, more terrible still, do you know what it is to be so abjecta thing, so infamous a creature, that you are content to play thecut-throat to your fellow-slave, to pry and spy and carry tales, inthe hope that you may be appointed to replace him, and so put anothershilling a week in your own pocket, and another sovereign in that ofthe tyrant and blood-sucker, to curry favour with whom you are ready todo this infamous thing?

"Again I say I do; again I say, and so do tens of thousands in thiscity of London to-day.

"For me those days of slavery and infamy are gone. For millions of myfellow-men and fellow-women those days of slavery and infamy remain;but a man who has once been through what I have, who has lived andstarved and eaten his heart out among the poor in their squalid, sordidsurroundings, can never forget it so long as he lives. Their cry isever in my ears; the cry of men whom these monsters have made lessthan men, breaking the man's heart in them, turning them into cursand cravens, robbing them of the very birthright of their manhood,that, like bullocks and steers, they may be broken to bow themselvesto the[Pg 172] yoke and lash, and meekly to obey their tyrant's bidding. Thecry of wan-faced, hollow-eyed women, working a week of winter daysand nights in a fireless garret till their chilled fingers can scarcehold the needle, and for a wage, that on the streets to which—smallwonder!—such women are, by starvation and despair, too often driven,can be earned at so light a cost. But most of all, the cry of littlechildren—little hollow-eyed children, crying silently because theyare hungry and cold, stretching wan hands for the bread——My God!I cannot bear to think of it; I shall go mad. I sometimes think Iam mad when I brood over their sufferings and their wrongs.A great writer has put it on record that when he looks upon hisfellow-men and fellow-women, and remembers that pain and sorrow anddisease, for themselves and their dear ones, are the inevitable lot ofall, and death the only certainty—when he sees them smiling, flirting,posturing, grimacing on the very edge of Eternity, he is filled withamazement and contempt.

"Contempt! To me the sight of haggard, careworn men, of weary-facedand unlovely women, leading starved and joyless lives,[Pg 173] out of whichall hope and beauty and poetry are irretrievably crushed and gone,yet forcing themselves, in face of such terrible odds, to smile andlaugh and take life lightly—is a sight for gods to wonder at, ismagnificent, is heroic, is sublime.

"And me, God has upraised to right the wrongs of the poor. The lovethat I bear to these my people, of whom I am one, burns more steadilythan ever within me; but side by side with it there has sprung upa fiercer flame—the fires of fierce and relentless hate of theiroppressors. Me, God has marked out to be the avenger of the poor.

"As God sent the rainbow as a sign to his servant Noah, so to me by asign has He signified His will. To me, as I walked the streets of thisgreat city, a message came, bidding me turn my steps to the nation'smuseum, there to seek the sign. And in the Egyptian court of the museumI found it. There, stretching half the length of that great hall,where stand the sarcophagi of Israel's taskmasters, the Pharaohs, is aclenched arm and fist, of solid granite, and of such giant proportions,that one single blow from it would make to fall the side of a house,and[Pg 174] bring to death and destruction all who dwell therein.

"And as I looked the word of the Lord came to me, saying, 'Behold, Imake of thee My fist and arm of granite, that thou mayest strike andslay without mercy My enemies and thy enemies, them that oppress andgrind down My people. Strike then, slay and spare not, else shall itbe to thee as to Saul, who, when bidden by Me utterly to destroy theAmalekites, spared many, bringing thereby upon himself and upon hishouse the just and heavy vengeance of God.'"

The man was mad—mad as it is possible for a man to be; but there wasmethod in his madness. In all that had been said, no single word hadbeen dropped which afforded any clue in regard to the crimes he hadcommitted or meant to commit. Passionate as had been his outpouringsin the cause of the poor and of the oppressed, and vehement as hadbeen his declaration of war against the oppressor, he had given me noinkling of the means at his command for the carrying on of the war hewas waging, no clue in regard to his associates, their methods, ortheir meeting-places. Not one word of[Pg 175] all he had said could be adducedagainst him in court, as evidence in connection with any crime withwhich he might be charged.

Then from under his cape of Christ-like compassion, the cunning andcruel eyes of the madman peeped.

"But I mustn't tell you too much—anything you could use against me,"he said with a leer, "until I know whether you are for the oppressoror the oppressed. Tell me you are on our side, Rissler, and none shallraise finger to harm or to injure you.

"But"—and now his voice was terrible to hear, the blue blaze in hiseyes terrible to see—"let me have cause to suspect you of assistingthe enemy, the people's enemy, God's enemy, and I'd throttle the lifeout of you, tear the heart out of you, this night, this moment, in thisplace. Which is it to be?"

THE DUMPLING'S SECRET.

The man, as I have said before, was mad—stark, staring mad, andwith a madman one must go warily. Had I too profusely protested mysympathy, too readily declared myself an adherent, his cunning would,I am persuaded, have led him to doubt my sincerity, in which case hispromise to strangle the life, or to tear the heart out of me, would, Ibelieve, have been fulfilled.

Under the circ*mstances I thought it best not to appear too eager.

"You can't frighten me with your threats," I said, quietly. "I did losemy nerve some time ago. But I've got it back again now, and while I'mwilling to hear all you have to say about a cause with which I'm notonly ready but anxious to throw in my lot, I'm not going to be bouncedor threatened into doing so. The co-operation of a man who, in makingso momentous a choice, is capable of being threatened or talked[Pg 177] intostanding in with you, who jumps, in fact, to your whistling, isn'tworth having. There are more momentous matters than my life hanging tothis, and before I say definitely I'm with you—as is my wish—thereare one or two more questions I must ask."

With no one will an appeal to sanity find more favour than with theinsane. "Do let us be reasonable" is the best of all arguments to useto those whose reason is affected. Evidently the man before me wasfavourably impressed by what I had said.

"You are quite right," he replied cordially. "We want the co-operationof no one who is not persuaded in his own mind of the righteousness ofour cause. From what I've seen of you, Mr. Rissler, you are just thesort of man with whom I should like to be associated in my work. Yourgetting out of that opium den with a whole skin when, believing youto be Grant, I'd given the strictest orders that you shouldn't leavethe place alive, proves you to be a man ready of resource and quickof brain, just such a man whose co-operation would ensure the finalsuccess of the cause. It will be a red-letter day for us if we couldinduce you[Pg 178] to throw in your lot with us. Ask your questions, then, andI'll give you a straight reply."

"Well," I said, "tell me in a word what is the end at which you areaiming."

"I'm aiming," he said, "to create first in England, and afterwardsall over the world, such an upheaval of the social order of things astook place in France at the time of the Great Revolution. But withthis difference. The French Revolution was aimed at the aristocrat.You'll think me inconsistent, I fear, when I say that it is notwith the aristocrat that I have my chief quarrel. I hold no brieffor the aristocracy. Many of them—most of them, perhaps—are lazy,extravagant, self-indulgent, luxury-loving, selfish, and vicious,as I know to my cost. I don't blame them very much for that, anymore than I blame the very poor for their want of cleanliness,their thriftlessness, their hand-to-mouth methods of living, andfor seeking solace from the cold, the squalor, and the misery oftheir surroundings, in the warmth and light and companionship ofthe public-house. Both classes are to some extent the outcome ofcirc*mstances. The aristocracy have most of them[Pg 179] their sense ofnoblesse oblige, and have the honour of a great name to keepup. On the whole, they do it tolerably well. They distribute largessgenerously, they entertain lavishly, they pay those who work for themfairly, and they treat those who work for them well. The aristocracy,it is true, has got, first, to give way, and, ultimately, to go, justas the monarchy has got to give way and to go before the advance ofdemocracy.

"Do you know what King Edward—wise man! foreseeing man!—is reportedto have said? I tell it to you as it was told to me. It may be true, orit may not. Personally, I believe it is, and it adds to the admirationto which, in spite of myself, I am compelled, for his wisdom and forhis foresight. He is reported to have said, 'My grandson is likely tobe the last King of England. The whole face of things is changing, notin this country only, but in Germany, Austria, Russia, in Europe, andall over the world. The monarchy will last my time. It may last myson's. Possibly it will last his son's time. I shall not be there tosee. But those who are alive, when my grandson dies, may possibly seean end of the monarchy in England!'

[Pg 180]

"That is what King Edward is reported to have said, and whether hesaid it or did not say it, it is true. We are on the verge of a deathstruggle between the masses and the classes. Much will depend upon theside with which the great middle classes throw in their lot. If themiddle classes decide for what we call the classes, the struggle willnecessarily be prolonged. If the middle classes decide, as I believethey will, for the masses, the end will come soon, and with awfulswiftness. One of the two—the masses or the classes—must go. Can youdoubt for one moment which it will be? Even now the death-knell of themonarchy and the aristocracy is sounding. Already the day of democracyhas dawned. King Labour is coming into his own.

"But the democracy of to-day doesn't see the real danger in front ofit. It is so busy, abusing and striving to sweep away the monarchy andthe aristocracy, that it doesn't see that it is playing into the handsof an infinitely greater danger—the plutocracy.

"As things stand now, King and Court and House of Lords are somesort of check upon the encroachments of the plutocracy.[Pg 181] Sweep Kingand Court and House of Lords away, and the country will be at themercy of the mere man of money. And what will the poor get out ofhim? Better a thousand times for the poor to be in the hands—beunder the heels, if you like—of the monarchy and the aristocracy,than be given over, tied hand and foot, to the tender mercies of themere money-grabber, with no name to uphold, no sense of chivalry toinspire, no conscience to control, no object in life, save to get andkeep and grind out money from man, woman, and child. It is notthe monarchy or the aristocracy who is the enemy of the people. It isyour capitalist, your mill and factory owner, your middleman, yourwholesale and retail merchants, your employers of labour. It is againsthim and all of his tribe that I would stir up a revolution in Englandwhich should make as clean a sweep of the lot of them as the FrenchRevolution made of the aristocrat.

"Do I carry you with me thus far, Mr. Rissler? If not, it were idle tosay more."

"You carry me completely," I replied, "But—forgive me asking—how iswhat you propose accomplishing to be done? Thus[Pg 182] far you have dealtonly in generalisations, but generalisations by themselves never yetbrought about a revolution."

"You are absolutely right," he replied quickly. "In the ordinary wayI should say it could not be done for another twenty, thirty, perhapsanother hundred years. There is only one way; but there is away. There is only one man who can do it; but there is such a man, asyou yourself will admit when you hear his name."

He stopped, and for at least half a minute looked at me searchingly, asif uncertain how far he was justified in taking me into his confidence,but muttering to himself meanwhile, in language which, by the word ortwo I caught, I knew to be French. So close was his face to mine that Isaw what at first I thought was my own face mirrored in his eyes. But,as I looked, the picture-face in his eyes became more definite, and Iknew that the face I saw there was not mine. It was a face there wasno mistaking; a face which every schoolboy, every child, would haverecognised at sight.

And now it seemed to be growing larger until what had been a tinypicture, in the[Pg 183] pupils of the Dumpling's eyes, was the life-size headof a man, looking at me with eyes of its own—eyes so stern, so cold,so cruel, so commanding, that the bidding of the set lips beneath themfew men would dare to disobey. At the bidding of those lips, at oneglance from those eyes—men, regiments, an army, even, had gone forthunhesitatingly to die.

That all this could be seen in the picture, which is formed in thepupils of one man's eyes, sounds incredible, and I can only explain itby saying that what I saw lay not in the pupils themselves, but laybehind those pupils, through which I looked as one looks through awindow.

Then suddenly the face which I had seen faded away. Silhouetted againstthe sky, I saw the solitary figure of a man standing upon the rockypoint of an island, and looking out—the soul of him more lonely thanthat lone island, so far away from other land, and surrounded by awasteful wilderness of waters—the heart of him torn with unrest,wilder, sadder, more hopeless, than the surging, sobbing unrest ofthose surrounding seas.

Then, too, this picture faded, and I was[Pg 184] looking upon the face of theDumpling, and listening to the words which fell sharply, incisively,from his lips.

Clearly he had decided to trust me with his great secret, and somethingof the excitement which I saw upon his face communicated itself to meas I listened.

"Why has the Great Revolution, why has the cause of Labour failedthus far?" he asked, turning upon me almost savagely. "I will tellyou," he went on, without waiting for an answer. "Because greatrevolutions are only brought about by great men; and for ten, twenty,thirty years, perhaps more, the womb of England has been barren ofgreat men. The histories of religions, we are told, are written inthe life-stories of great men. The histories of politics are no morethan the life-stories of great men. To-day there are parties, butno politics. What are your Labour party, your Liberal party, if youlike—your Campbell-Bannermans, Asquiths, Bryces, Birrells, Morleys,Burnses, Keir Hardies? Amiable men, able men, capable men, well-meaningmen, conscientious men, but spoken of in a comparative sense, ascompared with your real makers of history, of statecraft, what[Pg 185] arethey? Mediocrities, every one of them. Parnell had it in his powerto have been a great man had he lived, and had he not made a messof his life, but for the rest"—he stopped short for a moment—"forthe rest," he went on, "judged by any standard of greatness, for therest"—he snapped his fingers contemptuously—"that! The whole ofthem combined couldn't do in a year what one great man—a Napoleon,for instance—could do in an hour. The great revolution has failedof coming thus far, the cause of Labour has failed thus far, for onereason, and one reason only—there is no Napoleon to lead the people tovictory. Once find Labour her Napoleon, and Labour will rule the land.

"Listen!

"I who stand before you am he—not Labour's Napoleon only, not merelythe Napoleon of Labour, but Napoleon the Corsican, Napoleon the FirstConsul, Napoleon the Emperor himself! In me you see not only Napoleonre-incarnate, but Napoleon's very self—the conqueror of Europe, theCæsar of France, now come again to earth, even as the Christ came twothousand years ago, to save and to redeem the people. I[Pg 186] am here tolead the leaderless armies of Labour to victory—I am here to set KingLabour on his rightful throne. The world has waited over-long for thecoming of Napoleon. But at last he is come. I who stand before you amhe!"

THE NEW NAPOLEON.

"You say—I read it in your eyes—that I am mad," the Dumpling wenton, after a pause. "Wait and see. If mad I am, then mad were Cæsar,Alexander, Moses—mad even perhaps the Christ Himself.

"You say—again I see it in your eyes—you say: 'This man claims to beNapoleon, and condescends to become a criminal, a thief, a concocterof plots to entrap and kidnap millionaires.' But listen. Napoleon isunchanged. Should I, a hundred years ago, have hesitated to torturea rich Jew—had I so chosen—to wring from him his millions for thecarrying on of my wars? Money I must have. Money I will have, if I amto lead the legions of Labour to victory. These millionaires, thesewealthy parvenus whom I hold to ransom, are but the base pawns in thegame, from whom I wring the means of carrying on my war. I stop atnothing. I scruple at nothing, so long as I achieve my end. At thismoment the[Pg 188] mines are laid for a revolution which shall shake Englandto its centre. I, who hold the strands of the whole network of theconspiracy in my single hand, have not scrupled, in laying and carryingout my plans, to use base tools—thieves and rogues and criminals. Whatare they to me? I achieve my purpose. That is enough.

"And now again I read your thoughts, and this time you say: 'This man,this Cæsar in conception, this criminal in act, preaches humanity andpractises inhumanity; this man speaks of the poor with Christ-likecompassion, even while his hands are red with his fellow-creatures'blood.' But whom have I slain? My enemies? Never! Myenemies, my deadliest enemy, I would not stoop so much as tostrike across the face. But God's enemies, the enemies of God's cause,against them I will use all the cunning and craft of my brain, to wipethem off the face of the earth. This negro of whom you have spoken,this man Black Sam—he was slain at my command because he was the enemyof God, the enemy of God's cause. It was he who betrayed us to Grant,the detective. Therefore I slew him. Therefore would I slay a thousandsuch as he. When I was[Pg 189] on earth a hundred years ago, I never countedthe cost. I have sent regiments to certain destruction that I mightcarry out my end. And am I changed? Yes; changed, inasmuch as, to-day,I would sacrifice not a regiment, but an army—not a legion, but awhole nation—so long as I attained my end. Am I not Napoleon? And doesNapoleon ever count the cost?"

Then, all in a moment, he ceased his restless pacings, starting backand staggering wildly at some sudden thought, as a hit soldier startsand staggers when he feels the bullet.

"My God!" he cried piteously, "I am forgetting! This man, this youngGrant whom to-night I killed, thinking him to be his brother, was noenemy of the Cause! My hands are red with innocent blood. I have donemurder! I have slain an innocent man. Ah! if he have wife and child—awife whom I have made a widow, a child whom my hands have orphaned! MyGod! My God! Have pity on them! Protect them, comfort them, for I Thyservant have done this thing. I have taken innocent blood!"

I have seen strange sights in my somewhat adventurous life, but astranger spectacle[Pg 190] than this madman, this wholesale murderer, theblood of whose recent victims was surely as yet wet and warm upon hishands, pacing backwards and forwards, his face literally distorted byanguish of soul, as he cried out upon God to have pity upon the victimsof his crime, I am not likely soon to see again.

As he spoke, and as I stood watching him in amazement, there was asound like the scrunching of feet on the loose gravel outside.

Then a voice:

"There's someone in there, I'll swear, sergeant. Didn't you hear 'emspeaking? Turn your bullseye this way a moment, will you?... Ah! Wouldyou? Lay hold of him, sergeant; he's past me. Quick—or he'll get away!"

At the first hint of a sound outside, the Dumpling had turned offthe gas and stepped softly, swiftly to the door. As it opened Isaw the figures of the two policemen, their helmets and shouldersoutlined darkly but clearly against the light which streamed from theincandescent gas-lamp in the side street, their lower limbs and feetlost in the shadow thrown by the garden wall. I was[Pg 191] too dazzled bythe sudden flashing of the bullseye to see more than that the Dumplingwas making a desperate dash for liberty; but my ears told me the rest.

"THE DUMPLING WAS MAKING A DESPERATE DASH FOR LIBERTY."

The Dumpling had got clean away, perhaps to put the fuse to the minesof which he had spoken as laid and ready, and to spring upon a startledcountry the surprise of his great rebellion.

I heard his footsteps and the footsteps of his out-distanced, defeatedpursuers die away in the distance, and then, creeping noiselessly out,I scaled the wall and made my way home to my own rooms and to bed. Ihad had more than enough of adventure for one night.

THE KINDNESS—AND UNKINDNESS—OF KATE.

When I awoke next morning it was with a singular feeling ofdepression—the reaction, I told myself, from the excitement of thelast few days. Life seemed flat and at loose ends. I was in love, withsmall prospect of bringing my suit to a successful issue. Nor, in thematter of the Dumpling, could I persuade myself that I had any reasonfor self-congratulation. I had heroically set out to trap and to catcha criminal, instead of which I had been made a prisoner myself.

That I was here in bed, and between the blankets, was due neitherto my own skill nor to my own strength, for I had been hopelesslyoutwitted in the former quality, and ignominiously made to feel my owninferiority in the latter. That I was here at all, instead perhaps oflying strangled in a cellar, was due to the arrival of the police onthe previous evening.

Had their appearance not cut short my[Pg 193] discussion with the Dumpling,the issue of that discussion might have been disastrous to myself. Themost difficult part of my task—to convince the Dumpling that I wassufficiently in sympathy with himself and with his projects, safely tobe allowed at large—was all to come. In dealing with a madman, onenever knows what sudden warp his cunning and his mania will take; andbut for the interruption, it might have been my life, instead of theconversation, which was prematurely cut short.

Another reason for my feeling thus stale and "cheap" on this particularmorning was that the ardour with which I had taken up the hunting downof the Dumpling had considerably cooled. I am sympathetic by nature,and, mad though he was, this man's passionate denunciation of thewrongs of the poor, and the terrible and, I fear, only too true picturewhich he had drawn of their sufferings, had strangely moved me. Thetragedy of poverty, the fact that a man's spirit could be so broken,that he could be brought to such infamy as to pawn his very manhood,to become, as the Dumpling had said, like bullocks and steers, and tobow his head to the yoke, for the[Pg 194] sake of a roof to cover the headsof wife and children; the fact that women could be brought to such apass as to be compelled to choose between starvation or the streets,had come home to me with new and awful significance. Even as out ofthe mouth of babes and sucklings God brings forth wisdom, so out ofthe mouth of a madman and a fanatic had some of the sternest and mostterrible facts of life been brought to my realisation.

When such things could be, it seemed to me that to be spending timeand strength in playing at being a detective, and in writing what anewspaper once aptly described as "harmless little tales with titlesthat appal," was almost criminal. I was more than minded to throw thewhole thing up, and to occupy myself, instead, in doing what little Icould to relieve the suffering of my less fortunate fellow-creatures.

With these thoughts still seething in my brain, I dressed, and afterbreakfasting, sallied out to make my report to Miss Clara.

She received me with the same cordiality with which we had parted, andon learning that I had news to impart, sent word to[Pg 195] that effect toKate, who, she said, would be equally interested to hear it.

I told my story, just as I have set it down in the previous chapter,omitting nothing, and giving the Dumpling's words in regard to the poorand their sufferings almost as those words had fallen from his lips.

Upon one of my listeners, at least, the narrative had a most unexpectedeffect. Kate heard me throughout with very evident sympathy, and wasclearly alarmed and disturbed at the risk I had run in my encounterwith the Dumpling. Otherwise she was not in any sense moved. Butupon the elder woman's face, as I unfolded my story, there suddenlycame a look like that of one who has received a crushing blow. For amoment or two I feared she was about to faint; but by an effort shecollected herself, and sat out the remainder of the recital quietly andimpassively.

When I had made an end of my narrative her only comment was, "Quiteexciting, I'm sure!" Then she rose, and walking to the door, beckonedKate to her. Whispering a few words in the girl's ears—not more than adozen at most—she passed out.

[Pg 196]

Kate turned to me.

"Mr. Rissler," she said, "I want you to promise that you will donothing of the sort again."

"Nothing of what sort, Miss Carleton?" I asked, wondering whether shewas speaking for herself, or from instructions she had received fromher aunt.

"This detective work?" she replied.

"But why?" I asked. "What difference can it make to you in what way Iemploy myself?"

"For one thing," she said ruefully, "you'll be killed to a certainty.This dreadful man is clearly too clever for you."

"I fail to see the certainty, either of my being killed or of my beingso hopelessly outwitted in cleverness," I replied stiffly; for it wassomewhat mortifying to one's pride thus to be pronounced a fool and afailure.

"Besides, even if it be so," I added ungenerously, "my getting killed,or not killed, is my own affair, and cannot greatly concern you, towhom—as you reminded me yesterday—I am a stranger."

"Well, so you were—then. Almost a stranger, that is," she added,diplomatically.[Pg 197] "But, you see, we know something more of you now.Promise you'll give it up from this time forth—'d'reckly moment,' as Iused to say when I was a child, and was too impatient to wait for whatI wanted."

On my first meeting with this extraordinary young woman I had beenvery properly snubbed and put in my place. On my second, I had beencoldly informed that I must consider myself a stranger—as if onlyby effacing my previous behaviour entirely from her memory could myundesirable presence be endured at all. Yet now, on our third meeting,she was pouting her dainty lips at me, and pleading, in the prettiestway possible, that I would reconstruct and re-order my entire life tohumour her unaccountable caprice.

Extraordinary, inexplicable, as her conduct was, the novelty of findingmyself in the rôle of someone who was to be considered andconciliated, instead of a nobody who was to be effaced and ignored, washighly agreeable. Even had I been disposed to accede, off-hand, to herrequest—which I certainly was not—the situation was too pleasant forme to wish prematurely to end it.

[Pg 198]

"But why," I asked, "should you wish me to give up my detective work,or trouble yourself about me at all?"

"You are very unkind," she said, suddenly breaking down and, to myindescribable astonishment and dismay, bursting into tears.

Recalling, at this lapse of time, the course of our conversation onthat occasion, I do not consider that I was guilty of any unpardonableoffence against good taste or good manners; but at the moment, andat sight of her tears, my behaviour struck me as blackguardly beyondbelief.

"Oh, please, Miss Carleton, don't cry!" I gasped imploringly. "I wasa beast, a blackguard, a bully. Forgive me—won't you forgive me?I wouldn't do or say or even think a thing that would hurt you forworlds—for—for—I—I—love you. I loved you from the moment I saw youin the boat. I shall love you as long as ever I live."

When, for the first time, a man tells a woman, and with evidentsincerity, that he loves her, he not unnaturally expects that she wouldreceive his declaration with some consciousness of the fact that whathe says is, to him at least, a matter of supreme[Pg 199] importance. Kate, onthe contrary, took my avowal with what I considered ill-timed levity.Possibly that avowal told her nothing of which she was not alreadyaware; possibly she did not approve of the suddenness with which I hadsprung it upon her, or of the unconventionality of my wooing; possiblyshe merely wished to gain time before giving me an answer. Be that asit may, she not only proved herself to be a very self-possessed youngperson, but a calculating little body into the bargain. Having broughtme metaphorically to my knees, having reduced me to a condition inwhich I was not likely to deny her anything, she suddenly released oneeye from the eclipsing handkerchief which, a moment before, had hiddenboth. Regarding me out of the corner of this eye, but with the otherstill behind the handkerchief—like a horseman who, with one foot inthe stirrup, waits the final word which shall decide whether he is toride away or to stay—she smiled at me through her tears, and with theair of one making a bargain said:

"Then you promise?"

"Promise what?" I asked.

"To give up this detective work."

[Pg 200]

"Why, no! I can't promise that," I replied.

"I hate you! I hate you!" she cried, and, springing to her feet, flungangrily out of the room.

THE INEXPLICABLE CONDUCT OF MISS CLARA.

A younger and more pessimistically disposed man than I mightconceivably have been plunged into the depths of despair at being thustold by the woman he loved that she hated him. But, on the whole, Iwas not inclined to be altogether dissatisfied with the interview.Never before—even though her words were sympathetic and her mannernot unkindly—had she failed to make me realise that I was kept at adistance; that I was an unvouched-for stranger, between whom and herthe barriers of custom and convention still necessarily existed. Buther words and her acts of to-day—so it seemed to me—were a tacitadmission that the barrier had been removed. She had concerned herselfsufficiently in my career to express a wish in regard to it (thoughhere I fear she acted on her aunt's instigation rather than from anyimpulse or inclination of her own); she had made the granting of thatwish a favour to herself, and had[Pg 202] even suffered me to declare my loveunreproved. Her tears had, I admit, at the moment utterly dismayed me;but remembering the subsequent by-play of the uneclipsed eye, I wasnow disposed to think either that those tears were caused by pique atthe fact that I had not more promptly acceded to her request, or thatthey were no more than the legitimate use of a woman's natural weaponfor the confounding and undoing of man. Possibly, too—so I tried topersuade myself—the exclamation "I hate you—I hate you!" was less anexpression of personal dislike than a pretty woman's very pardonableexhibition of captiousness at finding herself thwarted where she hadexpected immediate submission and consent. With the assistance of MissClara, I hoped soon to regain whatever ground I had lost in her niece'sfavour, and as, after leaving us, the older lady had made straight forthe garden, and had (as I could see from the window) been pacing itbareheaded, hands clasped behind her and deep in thought, I ventured tolift the window, and to ask her to spare me a moment before I went.

She came in at once, looking, I thought, a trifle tired and pale, butotherwise all[Pg 203] trace of agitation was gone, and she spoke with all herusual self-possession.

"Mr. Rissler," she said, coming to the point as usual, the instant thedoor was closed; "what have you and Clara been talking about?"

"My work," I answered laconically. "I'm to throw up crimeinvestigation, and devote myself to something else."

"And you have promised?"

"Well, no, I haven't. I had the temerity to ask for some reason whyI should be called upon to take so extraordinary a course, with theresult that your niece first burst into tears, and then flung out ofthe room in a passion. Do you know why?"

She did not condescend to answer.

"Mr. Rissler," she said, "give up this detective work at once. Devoteall your time to book-writing, and I'll stand your friend. Refuse, andyou do not enter the house or see Clara again."

"The devil is in it!" I exclaimed rudely and with exasperation. "I'lldo anything to please you, who have proved yourself so true and sogenerous a friend. But surely I'm entitled to a reason. I admitfrankly that I'm less keen on this work[Pg 204] than I was before I heard theDumpling's passionate plea for the poor—a plea which seemed to me asort of conscription, calling upon and compelling every able-bodied manto enlist himself and to take up arms in so sacred a cause. I don'tsay that I mightn't see my way, sooner or later, perhaps even at once,to give up the detective business, if giving it up means pleasing youand winning your niece—who, by the bye, has just done me the honourto declare that she hates me, so there seems small enough occasion toconsider that aspect of the case. But when a man has devoted years ofhis life to any particular career, and has even made some small successat it, you can hardly expect him to throw up everything at a moment'snotice, and without any sort of reason being given for the request.What is your reason? What is your niece's reason? For some reason thetwo of you must surely have."

"It isn't respectable, for one thing," replied Aunt Clara doggedly.

"Respectable!" I said. "Is that it? Frankly, I have always felt thatthere isn't very much difference, after all, between the man who useshis brains to track down[Pg 205] and to capture a criminal—as a detectivedoes—and the man who uses his brains to make out a case against thecriminal and get him convicted—as the barrister does—and the manwho, after he has listened to all that can be said about the caseby everybody concerned, sums it up, and, when a verdict has beenreturned, passes sentence. They are all three—judge, barrister, anddetective—officers of the law and servants of the King and of thepublic; and I'm not sure that the detective's isn't the most importantand useful work of the three. Anyhow, it is the most difficult."

"Bosh!" said Miss Clara shortly. "You'll be telling me next that youmight just as well be a hangman, for he's as much an officer ofthe law and a servant of the King and of the public as the other three;and so, according to your showing, equally respectable. Bosh, Mr.Rissler! Bosh!"

"All right. Bosh it is, then!" I replied amicably. "Anything for aquiet life, and I admit I hadn't thought of your holding trumps allthe time, and playing the hangman card. Anyhow, I'm answered on thatscore. What a wonderful woman you are![Pg 206] Judge, barrister, and detectiveall rolled into one. A great lawyer was lost to the world when it wasdecided that you should come into it wearing petticoats instead of awig and gown."

"You're a fool!" said Miss Clara, not ill-pleased, in spite of theuncompromising plainness of her language.

"And now, what about the detective business?" she went on. "Are yougoing to give it up, or are you not? For you have got to decide one wayor the other before you come here again. I wouldn't see my niece forthe present, if I were you. She'll come round in time, like the restof us, if she's left alone. There's nothing a woman hates so much asbeing taken at her word, and left alone. There are many more women whohave gone back on what they'd said, and let a man have his own way,after swearing they wouldn't—there are many more who have done that,and been brought round to another way of thinking, just by being leftalone, than by any other way. Pestering a woman, pleading with her,imploring her, is precious little use. You take the tip from me, youngman—I know."

[Pg 207]

"You're a wonder, Miss Carleton, as I said before," I answered. "AndI'll take a tip from you as eagerly as I'd take a kiss, if you'd giveme one."

"Oh, bosh! Don't bother me! You're a fool—as I told you before," sheretorted. "But think it over; take time, if you like, but think itover, and if you are a wise man and decide to do as I wish, as both ofus wish, I'll stand your friend."

"Miss Carleton," I said, "I'll be frank with you. It doesn't wantmuch thinking over. I had thought it over before I came here, andhad practically decided for the present, at all events, to leave thedetective work alone. The singular and to me entirely inexplicableattitude which you and your niece have chosen to take up, in givingme, so to speak, an ultimatum either to drop the work or to considermyself forbidden this house, aroused, just for a moment, an Irishman'slove of fight, an Irishman's cussedness and contradictoriness. ButI'll do as you say, and for the present, at all events, will leaveDumpling-hunting and detective work alone. I don't make any greatsacrifice in doing so, as far as the Dumpling is concerned; for when hewent away he was in[Pg 208] too much of a hurry to leave me his visiting card,and I don't know where to find him if I wanted to. The only clue I haveto him is concerned with this house, the doors of which, unless I dropdetective work, must, you say, be closed to me. Moreover, whatever mayhave been his purpose in coming here and in watching this place (and Istill suspect that he intends, or intended, to kidnap your brother), itis likely that that purpose he has for the present dropped. In fact,after so narrowly escaping capture here at the hands of the police,this house—for some time, at least—he is likely carefully to avoid.So even that clue is 'off.'"

"I'm very glad to hear it," was her reply. "Yes, what is it, Metcalfe?Do you want me?"

"If you please, m'm," answered Metcalfe, who had opened the door whileMiss Clara was speaking, and was standing in an apologetic way with onehand on the handle. "I knocked twice, but you were talking and didn'thear me," he went on. "Miss Kate sent me. She'd like a word with you atonce, please, and before Mr. Rissler goes."

[Pg 209]

"All right—I'll come."

Then, Metcalfe having made his bow and gone, she turned to me:

"You'll find the Times there on the table. I shan't be awaylong."

But she was away long—so long, indeed, that she did not return at all.For almost an hour I was left alone, and then the door opened a fewinches, and instead of Miss Clara, Kate slipped quickly in.

Closing it, but with one hand still holding the handle, she faced me.She looked deadly pale, and trembled violently.

"Mr. Rissler," she said, "my aunt tells me that you have promised herwhat you refused to promise me—that you will in future abandon thedangerous and not altogether creditable line of work you have taken upin constituting yourself a detective. Is that so?"

"That is so," I answered hotly; "but in regard to its being adiscreditable occupation, and in regard to my having promised MissCarleton what I would not promise to you, I must protest——"

"Forgive me," she said coldly, "but I cannot argue the matter, orlisten to any explanation or protestation. I have come[Pg 210] here to askyou—to bid you—for my aunt, as well as for myself, to leave thishouse instantly, and never, under any circ*mstances, to enter itagain."

KATE'S CONFESSION.

"I will give no such promise," I began furiously. "I will——"

Then I stopped short.

"Forgive me. I have some decent instincts left, I hope—in spite of mybeing a detective," I added bitterly. "You are, of course, within yourrights; and if you so command, I have no option but to obey. But evenyou cannot command me or compel me to cease from loving you. Am I tohave no explanation?"

"You are to have no explanation," she repeated in a dull, dreamy voice,as if her thoughts were elsewhere, and with her eyes fixed on a far-offspace of sky which she could see through the window.

"Except, perhaps—you have already said it—it is because you hate me,"I prompted bitterly.

Moveless as a listening sleep-walker, she made answer:

"It is not because I hate you."

[Pg 212]

"Do you, or do you not, hate me?" I pleaded.

And again, dully, indifferently, like one speaking in her sleep, shereplied:

"I do not hate you."

"But you dislike me," I urged.

With the same troubled, far-off look in her beautiful eyes, sherepeated, automatically:

"I do not dislike you."

For a moment, like the defiant fluttering of a banner over a besiegedand well-nigh surrendered city, Hope sprang up to raise her redflag upon the ramparts of my heart; but at the sight of the dullindifference in the girl's eyes, banner and banner-bearer sank back.

"Perhaps even," I said in a foolish and feeble spirit of attemptedirony, "perhaps even you like me."

"Perhaps even," she echoed, "I like you."

"Kate," I cried, all the blood in my veins running riot, "it isnot possible—for God's sake don't play with me—but it is notpossible—tell me—it is not possible, it can't be—that—that—youcare."

In a moment she was alive again. Her[Pg 213] eyes, all her soul in them, leftthe far-off skies, and leapt to meet mine.

"I care," she said, softly.

The next instant, and before I could stay her, she was gone.

It is fortunate I did not see Miss Clara as I left the house. Had Imet that dear creature on my way out, I should, to a dead certainty,not only have kissed her on the spot, but with never a thought forhorrified servants or scandalised neighbours, should have put my armaround her capacious waist, and then and there have compelled herto dance a Highland fling with me. That Metcalfe thought I had beendrinking (as I had—deep draughts of the most intoxicating of allelixirs, the elixir of love), I am positive. Detecting me in the actof tweaking the nose of the stone bust of a celebrated Nonconformistdivine, which stood in a recess at the bottom of the stairs, and ofpainstakingly (mere absence of mind that!) wiping my boots on thedoormat, as if I were about to enter a drawing-room instead of passingout into a muddy street, he inquired solicitously whether I wouldn'tlike a cab, remarking with a surreptitious glance at the boots[Pg 214] withwhich I had been performing such unnecessary antics on the doormat:

"Yes, sir; the streets is very muddy, but you'll get home niceand dry and comfortable in a keb."

Telling him that I was tired out and half asleep from my long watchovernight, and that to walk home would be the surest way to awaken andfreshen me, I slipped a sovereign into his palm, and made my way intothe streets, all the blood in my body dancing in my veins, all the joyof first love singing in my brain.

At my rooms I found the expected notice requiring me to attend andto give evidence at the inquest to be held that day at noon upon thebodies of the three men who had been found drowned in the Thames.

That the inquiry was not wanting in painful interest the reader willreadily surmise, but except to say that I was subjected to a severeand suspicious examination, I do not propose further to enter upon thedetails of the inquest here.

I come now to a point in my narrative when the trend of events takesa new turn, and when I shall have to relate happenings of infinitelygreater importance than the circ*mstances[Pg 215] under which Parker andSmudgy, the negro Black Sam, and the two Grants, met their death.These were but the "curtain-raisers" preceding the drama in which theman known to the readers of this history as "the Dumpling" took soremarkable a part. Up to this point my tale—I had to tell it as ithappened—has been little more than a detective story. Now we shallsoon come to a story of quite another sort.

I DISCOVER THE IDENTITY OF THE DUMPLING.

The inquest over—for two mortal days I was kept hanging aboutSouthend, to the mortuary of which the bodies had been taken—Ireturned to town, eager to see Kate, and to compel from her dearlips a second sweet admission that I was not without a place in herheart. Something there was in the look of the house—the drawn blindsof the reception rooms, the fact that, except for the hall and thebasem*nt, the place was in darkness—which turned me cold and sick withapprehension and with a sense of coming evil.

"Good evening, Metcalfe," I said, when the door was opened by thatworthy. "Are the ladies in?—Miss Carleton, or Miss Kate?"

"No, sir," he said, looking at me queerly. "They have left town, butthere's a letter—two letters—for you, sir. If you'll come in I'll getthem."

"Left town?" I said, blankly. Then, recovering myself—for I did notdesire to[Pg 217] enliven the ennui of Metcalfe and his fellow-servantsby providing them with matter for speculation and discussion concerningthe relations which existed between their young mistress and myself—Iadded, unconcernedly:

"Oh, yes—of course. I had forgotten it was to be so soon, and I havebeen out of town myself. Where are the letters, Metcalfe?"

"On the library table, sir. Perhaps you'll walk in. Can I get you somecoffee, sir?"

"No, thank you. I'm just up from the country, and haven't dined. ButI'll go into the library to read my letters. If any answer shouldhappen to be wanted, I could write it there, and so catch an earlypost. I shan't want you any more, Metcalfe. Don't wait."

The man withdrew, and I opened the first of my letters.

It was from Kate.

Good-bye, dear Max; good-bye for ever. Something horrible hashappened, and you and I must never see each other again. So we havegone—my aunt and I. It was the only way. If you love me, do nottry to find us. It will be quite useless. If you love me, keep yourpromise—the promise, I mean, that you refused to me. You will notrefuse it to me now, I know—the first and last promise I shall[Pg 218] everask from you. One thing more, only, I will ask you—not to promise,but to believe; and that is that the answer I gave to your lastquestion, as we stood together by the window, was true.—Kate.

I suppose it was because I had opened it, prepared for some shock,some calamity, that I read this letter with such calmness, suchimpassiveness. Instead of springing up to stride the room, like onebeside himself, instead of gasping "Gone!—and for ever! My God! Whatcan it mean?" I rose quietly from my chair, and, thrusting the letterinto my pocket, walked over leisurely to stir the fire. That therewas an obstacle of some sort between Kate and me, I had realisedthe last time she and I had stood in this same room together, andshe had confessed her love. But bogeys—most of all the bogeys of awoman's making and imagining, paralyse and appal her as they may—donot greatly alarm the average man. That which she pronounces to bean insurmountable obstacle, he first surveys on all sides to satisfyhimself that it is an obstacle at all, and then calmly goes to work todiscover how that obstacle can best be overcome. Kate loved me; I lovedher. Given these facts, I saw no reason to despair.

[Pg 219]

So, as I say, instead of indulging in the usual heroics withwhich—when the heroine by word of mouth, or by letter, informs thehero that there is some occult reason why she "can never be his"—weare all familiar in the pages of a novel, or on the stage, I merelystirred the fire meditatively.

"Now for Miss Clara's epistle," I said, opening the second letter. "Letus see if she can throw any light on the mystery."

As I read this extraordinary letter, the explanation of Miss Clara'sand Kate's inexplicable attitude came to me in a flash. Dolt,blockhead, addle-brained idiot that I was! I—a detective! It waswell for me—it was high time, indeed—that I had decided to give updetective work. Fool that I was not to have seen it before!

The Dumpling and Kate's father, the elder Miss Carleton's brother, wereone and the same man!

JOHN CARLETON'S DOUBLE.

That Kate and her aunt were now aware of the identity of John Carletonwith the Dumpling, I was absolutely sure. I could point back, even,to the moment when—to the latter, at least—the suspicion whichafterwards became certainty was first aroused.

It was when I was repeating, word for word, as they had fallen fromhis lips, the Dumpling's expressions about the poor, that the firstsign of agitation had been noticeable in the elder woman. Then, when Iwent on to speak of his mania in regard to his being none other thanNapoleon—then it was, as I clearly remembered, that the self-possessedand by no means impressionable Miss Clara had astonished and alarmed meby looking as if she were about to faint.

Doubtless she had heard him say the same thing before and in the samewords, and so had no difficulty in identifying the speaker as herbrother.

[Pg 222]

Kate, on the contrary, had apparently heard me out without connectingher father with the Dumpling. She had shown no sign of dismay oragitation, while listening to my story, and when her aunt had calledher aside, at its conclusion, and had urged her to obtain from me thepromise to give up my detective work, Kate had undertaken the tasksomewhat light-heartedly, as witness the episode of the uneclipsed eye.

It must have been after Kate had left me, that the elder woman hadspoken of some great and impending danger. How much of the truth shehad told her niece I did not know; but when the poor girl returnedalone to speak to me, she seemed visibly aged, and was trembling inevery limb. Then it was that, by her aunt's command, she forbade meever again to enter the house. Were I to do so, John Carleton and Imust sooner or later come face to face, and that I should be the meansof arresting—perhaps of bringing to the gallows—the father of thegirl I loved, was too horrible to contemplate.

Of all conceivable happenings, nothing could so irretrievably partKate and myself for ever as that, whereas could Miss Clara[Pg 223] contriveto obtain a medical certificate, to the effect that her brother was ofunsound mind, and have him put under restraint, the further committalof crimes by him would effectively be prevented, and Carleton, once outof the way, Kate and I might come together again. That, I believed,was the end for which Miss Clara was working, and as it was an endwhich would spare Kate from being publicly branded as the daughter of amadman and a murderer, I could not but feel myself in sympathy with it.

That John Carleton and the Dumpling were one and the same man, therewas no room for doubt. That fact explained everything. That was whyMr. John Carleton had absented himself unexpectedly from his home, andcaused thereby some anxiety to his sister and daughter. He had intendedno doubt to return thither, after superintending the carrying out ofthe projected kidnapping operation—instead of which my unexpectedappearance, and subsequent escape from the opium den, had compelledhim to devote himself to the clearing out of the bombs, chemicals, andother contents of the place, before the arrival of the police.[Pg 224] Thetelegram from Glasgow was, of course, a fake. He might have instructedsome accomplice of his to despatch a telegram from that place, or thewhole thing, post-mark and all, might have been a forgery.

Which of the two suppositions was true I did not greatly care. It wasenough for me to know that in discovering the reason for Mr. JohnCarleton's non-return to his family that night, I had discovered alsothe reason for several of his subsequent acts. I had discovered, forinstance, his reason for watching No. 5, Taunton Square, not, as in myanxiety to form a theory of some sort, I had supposed—because one ofthe millionaires whom he was scheming to kidnap, and to hold to ransom,lived there, but because that house was his home, and because, beforereturning to its shelter, he wished to satisfy himself that all wassecure, and that no police trap had been set for him. It was becausethe house was his own that he had taken shelter in the garden after themurder of young Grant. A hiding-place of some sort it was necessaryspeedily to find, for the police were everywhere on the watch; and oncehe could obtain entrance to his[Pg 225] own house he would be safe. Nor wouldthat entrance be difficult to obtain. None knew better than he that,by the breaking of a certain pane of glass in the conservatory, hewould be able to shoot back the bolt on the conservatory door; and butfor my accidental presence, he would in all probability have effectedundisturbed the purpose at which he aimed.

He had, no doubt, done his best to deaden the noise he made in breakingthe glass; and, far away as the conservatory was from the livingrooms and from the servants' quarters, the sound would have passedunheeded but for my abnormally acute sense of hearing. Even if ithad been heard, and had Metcalfe or Miss Clara hurried thither, someplausible story of his having been accidentally shut out, or otherexplanation, would have been forthcoming, and no one was likely to givea respectable householder in charge for forcing his way into his ownresidence, or to connect the fact of his doing so with a recent murder.

That was why, having failed in the first attempt, he had returned, atdead of night—to discover me emerging from the wine cellar. That waswhy he knew there[Pg 226] was a gas-jet laid on there, though he had tried toexplain away his knowledge of the fact, and had done his best to throwdust in my eyes, by telling me that he made it a rule never to enter aplace without finding out all he could about it beforehand.

I could have kicked myself for my density in not having seen daylightbefore, but the possibility of connecting my lovely Lady of the Lakeand her eminently respectable, if somewhat unconventional, aunt with acriminal of the Dumpling type, was so unthinkable that I may, perhaps,be forgiven for not having entertained it until it was thus forced uponme.

Of one thing I was certain—that whatever the explanation, the goodfaith of Kate and Miss Clara was above suspicion. Unknown to them, theman was leading a double life. They may, perhaps, have wondered athis absences from home, and at his trouble in contriving a pretendedburglar alarm, which, I had little doubt, had been invented for quiteanother purpose than was pretended. The fact that he had fitted up apolice call for protection against burglars, seemed to point to himas a reputable member of society and a person of means. No[Pg 227] doubt,when he was absent from home, the use to which the thing was put wasactually that of a burglar alarm. But when he was at home, I thoughtit more than possible that he would be at the trouble of making adisconnection (it could be done by the turning of a switch) between hishouse and the police station, and that in cases of emergency—as, forinstance, a surprise visit by the police—the so-called burglar alarmcould as effectively be used against the officers of the law as againstburglars. The simultaneous locking of all doors and windows mustnecessarily delay the entrance of the officers who had come to arresthim, and in the meantime Mr. Carleton would no doubt be making good hisescape by some secret means of exit, known only to himself.

That his sister and his daughter and possibly his servants were hisdupes, and in no sense his accomplices, I was absolutely convinced. Butdupes his sister and daughter could be no more. They, at least, knewsomething of the truth, if not the whole of it. Hence their letters tome; hence their endeavours to induce me to give up Dumpling hunting anddetective work; and hence their disappearance. And now that I, too,[Pg 228]knew the truth, later though my knowledge might be, I was confrontedwith the question, "How, in view of what you know, do you propose toact?"

"ONLY STARVING!"

Given the fact that I had promised to refrain from further detectivework, the fact that the two Miss Carletons had disappeared and hadforbidden me to try to find or to follow them, "How did I now proposeto act?" was the question before me.

It was answered next morning as I sat at breakfast.

Opening my newspaper, I read that, owing to the removal of the worksof two of the greatest ship-building firms from Thames Side to theNorth, thousands of men had been thrown out of work, and the greatestdestitution prevailed. "The condition of things in East London"—soit was stated in the newspaper—"is more terrible than has been knownwithin the memory of anyone now alive, and it is no exaggeration to saythat at this moment hundreds, if not thousands, of women and childrenare starving." Some instances which had come under the personal noticeof the writer of[Pg 230] the article were then given. Even to read them waspainful; to try to realise them was heart-breaking.

"This may, or may not, be a piece of newspaper exaggeration, for thepurpose of sensationalism," I said; "but if the half of what this mansays be true, what right have I to be sitting here before a comfortablebreakfast while little children are crying vainly for bread?"

I pushed my almost untasted breakfast away from me. I felt as if, withthe wail of starving children in my ears, another mouthful of foodwould choke me.

"I can, of course, sit down and send a cheque to a church fund forthe unemployed or to a charitable institution," I went on, "and inthe majority of cases that is the wisest and best course to pursue.Organisation, especially expert organisation, can make even a smallsum go further than can any amount of inexpert individual effort; inaddition to which, nine out of ten of the people who happen to becharitably disposed are unable, for various reasons, to distributetheir charity at first hand, and in person. I don't know that itis always desirable that they should do so. Their very[Pg 231] kindnessof heart makes them easy to be imposed upon; and promiscuous andamateur almsgiving is, I fear, often responsible for the springingup of a class of anything but amateur alms-cadgers and spongers.But I know the 'ins' and 'outs' of the East End of London. I'm notaltogether unacquainted with the fact that the greater the need, themore pitiful and deserving the case, the harder is it to find. Yourdecent, deserving, hard-working man, whom ill-health and misfortunehave brought to want, will creep away secretly to starve, in silenceto suffer and to die, while your rascally loafer, who has never donean honest day's work in his life, seizes upon every opportunity of'times being bad,' or of men being known to be out of work, to paradethe streets, hymn-howling and copper-cadging for the wherewithal tospend in the public-house. I know something of the ways and wiles ofgentlemen of this kidney, something of the silent suffering and dogged,splendid pride of the other class; and being myself, for the present,at least, a genuine member of the unemployed, and having, moreover, asystem of my own invention for getting at the facts, I think I'll goeast and investigate things for myself.[Pg 232] For novel writing or otherliterary work my mind is just now too unsettled, and as I am not onewho can for any length of time remain inactive, I will make the startthis morning and this moment, and be off."

Taking the train to Shadwell, I deliberately set to work to find themost squalid and poverty-stricken slum in the whole district. Then Ientered the nearest baker's shop.

It is curious how readily the poor sum up a new comer. The slatternlybut not unkindly-looking woman who popped out from a back room saw ata glance that I had not called in the usual course of business, andas she came forward, her foolish, expressionless face lost somethingof its normal vacancy, until her vague eyes, indeterminate nose, openmouth and dropped chin, seemed for all the world to shape themselvesinto a human note of interrogation.

"Yes, sir?" she inquired respectfully, with a slight inclination.

"Good morning," I said, with an effort to make voice, manner, andexpression as pleasant as possible. "Good morning. I hope I haven'tdisturbed you. I'm not a customer—for the present, at all events."

[Pg 233]

"No, sir?" she replied, in a non-committal interrogative tone of voice,which implied, though it left unspoken, the question, "Now I wonderwhat in the world he wants?"

"It's this way," I went on. "I have been reading in my paper (I livein quite another part of London, by the bye) that there are hundreds,thousands even, of women and children starving out this way. Well,now, I don't accept for gospel truth everything I read in the papers,but it seemed to me that if I came out for myself to a place likeShadwell, found a poor street like this, and made my way to the nearestshop—which happens to be yours—anyone like yourself could tell mesomething of the real facts of the case. It seems to me, too, that ifyou would be so good as to help me—which I'm sure you will—you couldput me in the way of getting at the genuine, the deserving cases. Imean the cases which, perhaps because the people in question don'tattend any particular church, and so, not having their names on thevisiting list, get overlooked by the clergy and ministers who aredoing such splendid work; as well as the cases where, perhaps becauseof a pride,[Pg 234] to which I take off my hat, the sufferers can't humblethemselves to beg or to apply for parish relief.

"Understand me, please. I don't come from any newspaper. I'm notworking in connection with any charity, or any church, and I haven'tvery much money to spend. But if women and children are reallystarving, as I read in the newspapers, I want to do what little I canto help. Do you know of any such cases?"

"The last customer I served before you came in, sir, was a woman," shemade answer. "I served her with a farthing's-worth of bread. That's allshe and her three children have for to-day."

The unemotional, matter-of-fact way in which she spoke was infinitelymore significant than if she had put the point of exclamation to herstatement by any melodramatic show of feeling, any play of features, orgestures of hands.

"But such cases are not common!" I protested.

"No," she said dully. "They're not. It's much commoner not to have thefarthing's-worth of bread."

"Would you mind giving me that poor[Pg 235] woman's name and address? I pledgeyou my word," I added, perhaps unnecessarily, "that I'll say no word tohurt her pride or wound her feelings."

"18, Cripps Court," was the reply; "and her name's Frost. But there'sfive families living in the house, most of 'em in one room, and two ofthem are Frost. The one you want is Mrs. Fred Frost."

"Thank you very much. It is very good of you to take this trouble," Isaid. "Are there any other cases equally bad that you know? If so, I'dbe grateful to be told of them."

"Lots," was the laconic reply. "I can give you enough names, withoutyour going out of this street, to keep you busy for a week. There's acouple at No. 9, in the top room. They've pawned every stick they'vegot, and are sleeping on bare boards on the floor. I know they haven'thad anything to eat for two days. But you won't want anything to dowith them, I expect. The man's a thief by trade, and the woman—well,she's worse, and I know for certain they ain't husband and wife."

"I don't care what they are," I replied hotly. "They'refellow-creatures, made of[Pg 236] the same flesh and blood as we are, andthey're in want. What name shall I ask for them by?"

"Lowe," she said. "That's the name they go by, anyway."

Thanking the good woman behind the counter for her help, I set out tofind Mrs. Fred Frost.

The door of No. 18, Cripps Court, was opened by a wan, haggard-lookingwoman, whom the summons had apparently disturbed in the act of sucklinga sickly-looking baby, which she held on one arm, while the hand of herother arm was fumbling at the unbuttoned bosom of her dress.

"Good morning," I said, raising my hat. "Can you tell me, please, ifMrs. Fred Frost is in?"

"No, sir, she's not," she answered civilly; "her baby's dead, and she'sgone to find her husband, who's trying to get a job at the docks."

"Oh! Poor woman! I'm very sorry!" I said, gently. "The fact is, hername has been given me as one whose husband is out of work, and Iventured to call to see if she'd allow me to send in some groceries,and other things by way of being of some small assistance[Pg 237] during thehard time. If you'll allow me, I'll call again."

"She'll be very grateful to you, sir, I'm sure," the woman replied."Having the child ill has made it very hard for her just lately."

"Is there anybody else living here with whom things are going badly? Ifso, perhaps you'd tell me! I can't do very much, but what I can do, inthe way of sending in some tea and some meat and a few groceries, I'dbe very glad to."

"Well, sir," answered the woman, "there's an old couple in the backroom, living alone with their little grandson (the child's father andmother are dead). But they've gone out—all three of them—to try andget a relief ticket somewhere. If you were to ask for them when youcome back to see Mrs. Frost, you'll see for yourself by the very lookof them how things are. The little boy—he's all right. They've managedit, though I don't know how, between them, 'cept by starving themselvesto give to him, for skin and bone is about all that's left of the twoold people."

"I'm very much obliged to you," I said. "And I shall venture, as I say,to call in[Pg 238] again, perhaps in an hour's time. Good morning."

"Good morning, sir, and thank you," she said quietly.

As I was turning away the sun, which had not before been visible thatmorning, suddenly broke out from behind the clouds. Standing, as shehad been, in a dark passage, and partly behind the half-opened door,she was so much in the shadow that I could not observe her closely;nor, for the matter of that, had I tried to do so, being anxious not toseem curious or inquisitive. But as the sun fell full upon her face,and I marked the hollows in her cheeks, and the dark rings around hereyes, I stopped suddenly, impulsively.

"Please don't think me impertinent," I said. "But you look far fromstrong yourself. I hope—I do hope—your husband isn't out of work,too."

"Yes, sir; he's been out five weeks now, come Tuesday."

"And have you any children? Again I ask you to forgive me."

"There's no offence, sir," she said quietly, but I saw that she wastrying hard to stay the trembling of her lips.

[Pg 239]

"Yes, sir, I've five, and—and—there's been no food in the house sinceyesterday."

"Yet you never asked help for yourself!" I said, gentle reproachperhaps in my voice, but wonder and reverence at my heart. "You are abrave woman, a true woman, and I honour and respect you. But, for thechildren's sake, you mustn't refuse, if I ask you to let me try to beof some little help while the hard time lasts."

She was sobbing piteously now—more, I suspect, because she was faintand weak and in want of food than for any other reason.

"I'm sure I've—I've—I've tried hard to get some work, and so's Joe."

Then she pulled herself together.

"Will you come in, sir?"

Uncovering, I followed her into the wall-bare room. I say wall-bareadvisedly, for, except for an old box in the corner, every stick offurniture had, as I discovered, been pawned or sold for food. Yet hereseven of my fellow-creatures, made in the image of God, were herdedtogether, within the space of a few square feet.

A wan, ragged, and unkempt man was sitting on the upturned box, hiselbows on[Pg 240] his knees, his hands thrust in the hair that was bushed overhis ears.

He leapt up morosely, savagely, at my entrance, and muttered somethingabout "More —— spies!"

But I was not born an Irishman for nothing. Three minutes had notpassed before I had won him to friendliness; five minutes had notgone by before the youngest child was sitting on my knee, listening,open-mouthed, to stories about a performing dog.

After a little time I said:

"Now I wonder if Timmy there—he's nine, you said, Mrs. Wright—Iwonder whether he's a good hand at shopping, and if he'd come withme to get a few things at the butcher's, and the baker's, and thegrocer's, and then help me to bring them back? Do you know, Timmy, I'ma very, very greedy man, and want a cup of tea badly; and somehow I'vegot an idea that your mother, here, is a good hand at making tea; andwhen you and I come back, I'm going to beg her to be so very kind as tomake me a cup, and then, while all the rest of you have a cup too, andsomething to eat with it, I'll finish that story of mine about the dog."

But I had miscalculated Timmy's strength.[Pg 241] He and I stopped at thefirst shop we came to—a grocer's—and borrowed a wicker basket. Ithad the word "Margarine" stencilled or painted in big black letters onone side; and by the same token, as, for weeks to come, I had occasionto borrow that same basket, and came to be a familiar figure in thestreets, I was known and spoken of in the district as "Mr. Margarine."Into this basket Timmy and I stacked away tea, sugar, butter, and othergroceries. Then we returned to my friend the woman in the baker's shop,and added to our store a loaf or two of bread.

"And now, Timmy," I said, "I daresay this kind lady could find you apiece of cake and a glass of milk. Meanwhile, I'll run across the roadand interview the butcher."

I had hardly entered the butcher's shop before I heard the suddenpulling up of a horse and cart in the street, and saw the driverhastily dismounting.

Timmy, supposing I had meant him to follow at once with the basket,had taken it up, and must have passed out almost at my heels. Half-wayacross the street he had suddenly reeled and fallen, and now lay whiteand unconscious.

[Pg 242]

"What's the matter?" I asked the woman who was kneeling beside him withhis head on her arm.

"Oh, nothing!" she answered, bitterly. "You've got eyes in your head,haven't you, and can see for yourself? He's fainted for want offood—that's what's the matter. He's only starving!"

RE-ENTER THE DUMPLING.

"He's only starving!" the woman had said. But as I stooped to lift thefrail little figure from the ground, as I hurried with it across thestreet and into the baker's shop, there to wet the white lips with arestorative—a prayer that was like the spurting of blood from a wound,a prayer that shot a pang of actual physical pain to my heart—sopoignant, so terrible was my remorse—surged up unuttered but notunheard, within me.

"Lord Christ, lover of little children, spare and heal this Thystricken little child. Forgive and pardon such as I, who, living ourselfish, easeful lives, have closed our ears and shut our eyes to thesuffering and the misery around us. Help us to repent. Lash us, if needbe, with Thy whip of pain, burn us, if it seem good to Thee, with thescorching of fire, but awaken us, arouse us, thaw this cruel, frozenheart[Pg 244] within us, that we be forgetful of the sufferings of these ourfellow-creatures no more. Amen."

And the prayer was heard—as every prayer that is uttered in earnestis heard—on high. The restorative did its work. The cup of warm milk,which—perhaps with a thought of Him who said, "And whosoever shallgive to drink one of these little ones a cup of cold water only ...shall in no wise lose his reward"—was held to his lips by the goodwoman, put new life into him; and before long Timmy and I were able togather together our belongings, and to return to No. 18, Cripps Court.

There, his mother brewing the tea, and the rest of the householdsitting around discussing the contents of my basket, I made thehappiest meal of my life. The Wright family were equally happy, andlistened to the continuation of my story of the performing dog withuproarious laughter.

The mere fact that one, not in their own station of life, could, bycoming among them as one of themselves—asking no questions, layingdown no laws, but by talking to the children, taking the littleones upon his knee, to show his watch or the dog's[Pg 245] head on hiswalking-stick—so please and delight them, was to me tragic.

The good fellowship, the realisation of the common bond of humansympathy which—whether they wear corduroy or broadcloth, silk hatsor coster caps, satin gown or cotton frock—should bind men and womentogether, seemed to cheer them in spirit as much, if not more, thantheir bodies had been cheered by the food.

After a time Mrs. Wright departed, taking the children with her, toexecute some shopping commissions for me, and then Wright and I settleddown for a chat.

It was not long before I learned his reason for fearing, when I hadfirst entered, that I was what he had called "another of the ——spies."

"It's this way, sir," he said. "Two ladies called afore you come. Themissis was out, or she wouldn't have let 'em in, but they came inwithout bein' asked, and sat down—at least, one on 'em did—on thisbox, and the other, she walked all around the place, sniffing like toherself, and talking aloud about what she called the 'dirt.'

"'So your name's Wright, and you're[Pg 246] out of work, are you?' says thesitting-down one to me.

"'Yes,' I says, short like.

"'And what church do you attend?'

"'I don't attend none,' I says. 'The missis she goes sometimes of aSunday evening, and the kids goes to Sunday school.'

"'And wot church does your wife go to—and what Sunday school do thechildren attend?' puts in the other lady, having done all the sniffinground she could.

"'Wesleyan,' I says.

"'H'm!' she says. 'Dissenters! That's bad! Don't you and your wifeknow that the Church of England is the Established Church of the land,and that it's displeasing to Almighty God—not to say anything aboutyour wife's duty—in letting the children attend a sectarian place ofworship?'

"'No,' I says; 'I don't.'

"'And what wages do you earn when you're in work, Wright?' she says.

"'Well,' I says, 'when I was a farm labourer I only made thirteen boba week, but since I come to town I got about eighteen shillings when Iwas in work.'

"'And how much did you save out of that?'

[Pg 247]

"'Why, nothink,' I said. 'I 'ad a 'ouse then, and the rent was eightand six a week; and nine and six don't go far to feed and clothe five.'

"'Nonsense!' she says. 'You should always put by a percentage ofwhat you earn, no matter how small it is, against a rainy day. Theimprovidence, the thriftlessness, of you poor is criminal! I'm afraidyou're an idle, worthless fellow, Wright,' she says, 'and not deservingof any help until I see that you've reformed your ways.'"

Then, moved perhaps by the memory of his recent privations, he suddenlyseemed to lose all self-control. Springing to his feet, he shook hisclenched fist in the air, as with flaming face and voice hoarse withfrenzy, he shouted:

"Reform my ways? Idle, worthless fellow, am I? Ah! but the days ofgrinding us down are gone. The days of them that oppress the poor areover! It's Labour that's going to lord it now, and make the laws,and rule the land. The millions on millions who starve and sweat andlabour are no longer to be the toys and tools of the few thousands thatsweat them, so that the idle few may live on the fat of[Pg 248] the land. Themillions have found their leader at last—the man to organise them intoarmies, and to lay the mines of the revolution that's close at hand,the man that's——"

"Cease your ranting!" I interrupted sternly, for his voice had risento a screech. "Do you want to arouse the neighbourhood? I've heardall that stuff before, and from the lips of the man who first utteredit—for you are not speaking your own words. You are only speakingwords that have been put into your mouth. Wrongs you have, no doubt,but rant and rioting won't right them, and I tell you——"

I was not allowed to finish the sentence. Someone who had no doubt beenlistening in the passage outside suddenly sprang in, and before I couldturn—for my back was to the door—had seized me so as to pin both myarms to my sides.

I did not need to be told the name of my assailant, to see his face, orto hear his voice. Only one man whom I had ever met had arms of suchgorilla-like length, of such giant strength.

It was the Dumpling!

MUTINY AND A MESMERIST.

"You noisy fool, Wright!" he said, still holding me in his iron grip."I heard you ranting in the street outside." Then, "Am I hurting you,Mr. Rissler?" he asked.

Foolishly I opened my mouth to reply, but hardly had I done so before ahandkerchief was thrust between my lips, and stuffed the next instanthalf-way down my throat.

"Now, Wright," he said, "you can tie his hands and feet while I holdhim. Do it so that the knot won't give, but carefully, so as not tohurt him. Come along, my good man! You are very slow! Do as I bid you,and be quick about it!"

Somewhat to my surprise, and more so, evidently, to the Dumpling's,Wright refused point-blank.

"I won't," he said, not budging from where he stood. "The gentleman'sbeen[Pg 250] kind to me and mine, and lift a hand against him I won't."

"Do as I bid you!" was the answer, in a voice that was almost a hiss.

"I won't," was the dogged reply.

The next jiffey I was lifted off my feet by the Dumpling's powerfularms, and, before I knew what he was about, I was lying upon my back onthe floor, bewildered but unharmed.

Putting a knee upon my chest, and holding me down meanwhile with bothhands, he raised his head and looked Wright straight in the eyes.

For the space of a few seconds the fellow stood gaping at the Dumplingas if fascinated. Then his eyes dulled to a fixed, foolish stare, andfinally the lids of them drooped and closed. He was mesmerised—thatfact was evident.

"Open your eyes," the Dumpling commanded.

Wright did so.

"Put your hand in my right-side pocket, and you'll find a strap."

Automatically the other obeyed.

"Strap his ankles securely. No; it is no use your struggling, Rissler,"he went[Pg 251] on, as, getting my feet against the wainscot for leverage, Iput all my strength into an effort to throw him off.

Then, looking over his shoulder, he inquired:

"Have you got that strap, Wright?"

"I have got the strap," the other replied mechanically.

"Then be ready to use it," said the Dumpling. "Slip it around hisankles when I say 'Now'!"

Still holding me down with both hands, he suddenly straddled hispowerful knees open, as if they had been a pair of nut-crackers,and the two legs of me—outside which his own legs now lay—the twohalves of a walnut. Then he closed his knees, clipping mine togetherwithin them, as the pair of crackers might clip the shell; and thoughI struggled with all my strength, for I was furious at finding myselfproved to be not only as a child in his hands, but as an infant uponhis knees—or between them—I knew, when I heard him say 'Now,' that Iwas as neatly hobbled as any horse.

"It's a pity you put us and yourself to all this unnecessary trouble,"he said philosophically. "Now, then, Wright, look[Pg 252] in his pockets for ahandkerchief, and lash his wrists while I hold them together."

As he spoke, the five fingers of his right hand closed on my left hand,as the talons of a pouncing hawk close upon a field-mouse.

Then, in spite of my futile efforts, he drew my left hand towards myright, and suddenly spanning the two with the fingers of his singlehand, nonchalantly arranging the set of his collar with the othermeanwhile, he said:

"Now, Wright, just tie his wrists together, will you?" and once againthe mesmerised man did as he was bidden.

Rising, the Dumpling turned from me to Wright. Looking that worthy fullin the eyes, he said, in a low voice:

"You are awake."

"I am awake," repeated Wright, automatically, as his eyes, still fixedin a stupid stare, turned sluggishly in their sockets, following hismaster's movements.

Lifting his dropped left arm slightly, the Dumpling touched, with afinger tip, the finger tips of the other's loosely open hand. Then heput his right hand on Wright's shoulder, and with a gentle shake, said:

[Pg 253]

"Wake!"

Wright came to himself with a start, and looked foolishly around.

"What did you mean by disobeying me just now?" asked the Dumpling withsudden fierceness.

"I'm sorry, sir; I never done it before, as you know, and I'm sorryif I opened my mouth too wide and made a noise. Me and mine has gonethrough hard times since you were here last. The money you left uswas finished nigh upon two weeks ago, and not knowing where youwas, and not being able to get any work, we've had nothing to eat.This gentleman here has been very kind to us, and though I've neverdisobeyed you before, sir, I couldn't lift hand against him, and that'sa fact."

The Dumpling seemed genuinely concerned.

"Has it been so bad as that with you, my poor fellow?" he said gravely."Humphreys shall answer to me for this. I had to be away, it's true,but I left plenty of money with him for all requirements, and Iparticularly told him that no one, who is in with us, should be allowedto want.

"I'm glad my friend on the floor has[Pg 254] been good to you," he continued."He's of the right stuff, and ought to be with us, Wright—will be withus one day, I hope and believe. You needn't be anxious about him. Idon't mean to do him any harm. On the contrary, I want to do him a goodturn, if he'll let me. My reason for gagging him was because, when Ifirst came in, I thought you and he were quarrelling. One doesn't doa man any serious amount of damage by sticking a piece of rag in hismouth and tying him up for a half-hour. He, on the other hand, notunderstanding the situation, and supposing himself to be in danger,might have called out and brought the police about our ears. He'd besorry for it after, when he knew the facts, so we protected ourselves,and protected him against himself, by taking the precaution of makingsure of him first. See?

"Well, now, I want to have a few words with the gentleman, and I can doso better if he and I are alone. You stay outside the door meanwhile,Wright, and see that no one comes in."

Wright gone, and the door closed and locked, the Dumpling turned to me.

"Now, Mr. Rissler, to finish our interrupted[Pg 255] conversation of the othernight. But first of all about that gag. If I take it off, will you giveme your promise, your parole, not to call or cry out, or do anything tobring outsiders in? Nod if you agree. Shake your head, if not."

I nodded.

"All right," he said. "But you'll be more comfortable sitting up, withyour back to the wall, than lying on the floor full length. See, I'llprop you up that way, and now to take off the gag."

While he was doing so I was planning a little surprise for him. Up tonow he had, no doubt, for reasons of his own, been very careful toconceal his name from me. He had, to be sure, declared himself to beNapoleon, but Napoleon's present address is not to be found in anydirectory available for the purpose.

That my theory of the identity of John Carleton, of No. 5, TauntonSquare, with the man whom I knew as the Dumpling was correct, I was,in my own mind, entirely persuaded; but I was shy of theories, andanxious to replace them by actual knowledge. I was curious, too, to seewhat effect the fact that his real name was known to me[Pg 256] would haveupon him. Would he admit it? Would he deny it? Would it arouse him toanger or to fear? Means of knowing I had none, other than by puttingthe matter to the test; so, no sooner was I sitting up, with the gagremoved, than I looked him straight in the face and shot my bolt.

"Well, and how are you, Mr. John Carleton?" I said.

THE MYSTERY OF THE THIRD MAN.

That my knowledge of his identity would come to him as a surprise, Iwas tolerably sure; and, in springing it thus suddenly upon him, Ihoped to gather by his face, which I was watching narrowly meanwhile,whether he were moved by anger or by dismay.

The result was a fiasco, a fizzle, an abject failure. Either he was themost consummate of actors, or, as is more likely, I the most consummateof fools; for he looked at me at first with bewilderment, and then withamusem*nt, and finally burst into a hearty laugh.

"So that's who you think I am, is it?" he chuckled. "I saw bythat speaking countenance of yours that you were hatching an egg (youare an Irishman, aren't you? so you won't mind my mixing my metaphors),but I didn't expect so weird a fowl as this."

He took that morning's paper from his[Pg 258] pocket, and holding it openbefore me, pointed to a paragraph, which ran as follows:

"The freedom of the City of Carlisle will to-day, at noon, be conferredupon Mr. John Carleton, the eminent inventor, who was born in thatcity, and has devoted a large portion of the fortune he amassed inAmerica to improving the homes of the poor in the place of his birth.Miss Clara Carleton and her niece, Miss Kate Carleton, have left 5,Taunton Square, W., for Homburg, where Mr. Carleton will shortly jointhem."

"I admit," commented the Dumpling ironically, "that the fact of Mr.Carleton devoting a portion of his fortune to improving the homesof the poor, points suspiciously to me. How are you to be sure, Mr.Rissler, that I didn't send that paragraph myself to the newspaper,in the expectation of meeting you here, and, by showing it to you, toput you off the scent? And the portrait! Stop a minute—there is aportrait. It's in another part of the paper. Ah! here it is."

The portrait, which was inscribed "John Carleton, Esq., the eminentinventor and[Pg 259] philanthropist," was that of a flat-foreheaded,clean-shaven man, absolutely bald, and so shrunken and fleshless offace as to seem all skin and bone. The striking resemblance to a skull,caused by his singular fleshlessness, was heightened by the fact thathe wore huge glasses of great magnifying power, out of which his holloweyes loomed cavernously.

"It's like me, isn't it?" said the Dumpling. "But then you arenot to be deceived by anything of that sort, are you? It may dupe thepolice, but you will see at a glance that that portrait is onlymyself, cleverly got up to look like somebody else. And when you readin to-morrow's papers an account of the ceremony at Carlisle—and, bythe bye," pulling out his watch, "it's just about taking place now—youwill say to yourself, 'What a thing it is to be a detective! Here'sall this hullaballoo about the conferring of the freedom of the Cityof Carlisle upon Mr. John Carleton at noon yesterday; and all the timeI could have told them—if they'd only asked me, which for someinexplicable reason they didn't—that the real John Carleton was at 18,Cripps Court, Shadwell.'"

[Pg 260]

Then the bantering tone died out of his voice.

"I've chaffed you a bit about the mistake, Mr. Rissler, but it wasa very natural mistake to fall into," he said. "My coming to No. 5,Taunton Square, twice in a night, my shadowing it beforehand, myknowing all about it—no, I can't see, as I say, that you are very muchto blame, after all. It is curious that you should have thought me tobe John Carleton when, if there is one man in all the world withwhom I would not, for all the world can offer, change places, thatone man is John Carleton.

"When I tell you the story of my life, as I hope I shall one day,you will understand and appreciate—but not till then—my reason forspeaking as I do. But now to talk of other matters. You have thoughtover what I said to you the other night?"

"I have," I answered.

"And you are going to throw in your lot with us?"

"No."

"Rissler," he said gravely, "don't compel me to kill you, as kill you Imust under certain circ*mstances. There is blood on my hands already,and more blood on my[Pg 261] hands there must, of necessity, be before mywork is done; but, of all men in the world, you are the one man whom Iam most anxious to spare. You must see for yourself that you know toomuch, that you are too dangerous to be left at large, except as one ofus. I have shown my heart, my hopes, my dreams, to you, as I have shownthem to no other man. Can I do nothing, say nothing, to influence you?You feel as I do about the poor, as witness the fact of what you havedone for Wright and his family. What moved you to do that? What broughtyou here, in Wright's house, at all?"

He stopped, as if expecting an answer; so, briefly as possible, I toldhim of the impression that had been made upon me by his words about thepoor, and that, for the time, at least, I had thrown up my detectivework, in order to devote myself to doing what lay in my power toalleviate the sufferings of my fellow-creatures.

He was genuinely moved, and when he inquired how I came to know ofWright, and I told him of my system of making inquiries at a smallshop, in the very poorest[Pg 262] district, he put a hand upon my shoulder,and said excitedly:

"Rissler, you have no choice in this matter. God has called you to thetask, and you may not say Him nay. It is only a question of time. Twodays—only two days ago, you were against us. You announced yourselfas my enemy, as one who was set upon hunting me down. Now you tell meof your own accord—and I believe you—that you have abandoned thisignoble work of hunting down a fellow-creature who, whether his methodsbe right or wrong in your eyes, is at least consumed with a passionatedesire to spend and to sacrifice everything he has, life itself, ifnecessary, to succour and to help the poor and the oppressed.

"Two days ago, Rissler, as I say, you were against us. To-day you areagainst us no more. Two days ago you cared nothing for the sufferingsof the poor, you gave no thought to them. To-day you are here amongstthem, ministering to them with your own hand. If two days have wroughtthis change in you, what change may not another two days work? Anothertwo days may see you working with us,[Pg 263] one of us, leading the Labourhosts in this battle of the Lord.

"Now, listen to me. I'll be frank with you, and tell you that fromthe first moment I saw you something within me warned me to beware ofyou, and cried out, 'Kill! kill! kill!' That night in the wine cellar,to-day in this squalid room, I should, had I followed my impulses, havestrangled you without mercy, without remorse, and without a thought.Why don't I kill you? Why do I spend time which I can't afford tospend? Why do I run risks which I never ought to run, in talking toyou, in explaining things to you, in trying to persuade you to join us?

"I will tell you. It is because God has revealed to me that you aredestined to play a great part in the history of this rising. It wasby no chance that you came that night to the opium den. It was by nochance, it was not entirely by your resourcefulness and skill, that youescaped with your life. It was no chance which drew you to the house inTaunton Square, no chance which sent you here to Cripps Court.

"The part you are to play, God has not yet revealed to me; but I willtell you[Pg 264] what I believe that part to be. The army I command may becounted by many millions, but leader there is only one—myself. Andthe battle—which shall be called Armageddon—the battle which shallset Labour upon the throne as Lord and Ruler of this land—that battleapproaches, and in that battle I shall fall. If I fall, all falls,unless God raise up a second in command who shall be the leader of thepeople after I am gone. That leader I believe you are marked out tobe. That is why I dare not kill you; that is why I am going to do themaddest thing a sane man ever did.

"Of my own will I set you free to go from here unharmed. As yet youare not with us. As yet God has not made known His will to you. Asyet, though I have twice appealed to you to throw in your lot withus, you have resisted my entreaty. But I am not dismayed. Once againI shall come to you. Once again I shall appeal to you, and that thirdtime I shall give you such assured proof of the triumph of our cause,that after that third time I shall need to appeal to you no more. Thevictory will be won. Our cause, the[Pg 265] people's cause, God's cause, youwill, on that third appeal, espouse. Of my own accord I set you free."

As he spoke these last words, he stooped to unfasten my bonds,and, in doing so, looked me for a moment in the eyes. Once again adream-tableau seemed to shape itself before me.

I saw myself—as one might see another person—in some dark placeunderground. By my side stood the Dumpling, and far back in the shadowwas another man.

In my dream I could not see the face of the third man. I could seethe Dumpling's face, and upon it was a look of fiendish triumph as hepointed me to the third man. But I could see my own face, and on my ownface, as it was turned to the face of the third man, was such a look ofincredulous horror as, waking or dreaming, I shall never see upon humanface again.

Then the dream passed. I was free of my bonds, and the Dumpling washolding open the door.

"Good-bye, Rissler!" he said. "We shall meet again and soon; and thatmeeting will mean great things for both of us."

Without a word, without so much as a[Pg 266] "Thank you" or a "Good day,"I passed out, like one who walks in his sleep. I could think ofnothing save the unseen face of the third man in my dream, and of theincredulous horror which had been upon my own face on realising whothat third man was.

FORTY MILES IN A PERAMBULATOR!

My discomfiture at the Dumpling's derisive repudiation of thesupposition that he was John Carleton was completed next morning, whenJohn Carleton himself returned to town, and John Carleton in the fleshI with my own eyes several times saw, as he went in and out of hishouse in Taunton Square.

"That man," said I to myself, "should be an object-lesson to you inthe futility of theory building. First, you called yourself a fool fornot having seen that John Carleton was the Dumpling, and the Dumpling,John Carleton. Now, you have the pleasure of knowing yourself adouble-distilled donkey, for ever having supposed anything of the sort."

Upon the theory—the fact, as I had thought it to be—that JohnCarleton and the Dumpling were one and the same man, rested the onlyexplanation I had to offer in regard to the letter I had received fromthe two Miss Carletons, aunt and niece.[Pg 268] That theory being now entirelyexploded, their extraordinary behaviour remained as much, if not more,of a mystery than ever.

A mystery—so far as I was concerned—I decided that it might remain.Of detective work and of theory building I had had more than enough,and so I betook myself that very afternoon to Shadwell, to renew theinvestigations which my meeting with the Dumpling had interrupted.

The first name on my list was that of a tailor's "hand," named Holmes,a widower who, I was told, had five young children, and was out ofwork. He was a consumptive-looking creature, hollow of cheek, eye, andchest, and with a hacking cough.

"Yes, sir," he said civilly, in reply to my inquiries. "It is quitetrue that I am out of work, and that I have children; but I can't takeyour help, asking your pardon all the same, sir, for seeming rude andungrateful."

"On the contrary," I said, "it is I who have to apologise to you, Mr.Holmes, for what you might very well think my impertinence in cominghere at all. But I happened to hear, quite by chance, how beautifullyyou keep your children; and[Pg 269] how nice they always look; and learningthat you were out of work, and being very, very fond of children (Ihaven't any myself: I wish I had), I thought there wouldn't be anyharm, at least, in calling, just to see whether there were any littlething I could do for you, until you're in work again. I'm a workingman, as you are, though I happen to work with a pen, while you happento work with a needle. And I'm a poor man, too, for the matter of that;but just lately I chanced, by a stroke of luck, to make a pound or twomore than usual, and when I have a stroke of luck I like to share itwith someone who has been less lucky—just as I believe you'd be readyto share your good luck, when it comes, with me, if I happened to needit. But I respect your independence and pride, and I ask you again toforgive me for calling."

"It isn't pride, sir," he said; "and, if the children were in absolutewant, I'd take your help and thank God for it. It's this way, sir. Thisweek we have just enough money left out of my savings to last us—meand the children—in bread. It has only been bread, and dry bread, it'strue; and if when Monday comes I haven't got[Pg 270] work, there won't even bebread, for my money will be entirely gone. If you should be this waythen, and would look in, and I haven't found work, I will take yourhelp—putting it the way you do, sir—and thank God for it. But whenI know of hundreds of little children who haven't had even a piece ofbread for days, I can't take——But I thank you kindly. God bless you,sir. I must go now. I hear one of the children calling. Good afternoon."

He closed the door in my face—not rudely, but in haste, lest I shouldsee how shaken he was by emotion; and bowing my head, and with my ownheart rising strangely in my throat, I turned away.

Just for the moment, I did not feel like facing the eyes in the street;so, as a slight rain was falling, I took shelter in a dark passageleading to a court, and stood there out of sight of passers, to collectmy thoughts.

It was not long before my attention was attracted by a curious sight.A gipsy-like, wolf-faced man was wheeling a child's perambulator, inwhich, to my astonishment, I saw curled up the figure of a full-grownwoman. I recognised the couple at[Pg 271] a glance. Walking once along thehigh road from Epping to London, I had seated myself upon a five-barredgate by the wayside for a quiet smoke. The gate stood between thickhedge-rows, and, as it was set back a little, the folk passing alongthe road could not see me until they were almost level with the gate.By and by I heard what struck me as a very pretty altercation betweena man and a woman who were approaching me slowly, but whom as yet Icould not see. The man, as I discovered when they came into sight, waswheeling a perambulator (the same perambulator, in fact) in which werea number of ferns and primrose roots that he was carrying to London tosell. This perambulator the woman was pleading to be allowed to take aturn at pushing, urging that as the man had been up since four in themorning to gather the ferns and primroses, and had had to wheel theperambulator five miles out and five miles back, he must consequentlybe very tired. He, protesting that he was not tired at all, point-blankrefused, declaring that, as she had only just come out of hospital, shemust be much more tired than he. And so the petty quarrel[Pg 272] continued,until the pair came opposite to the gate, and I saw that she was asickly, blear-eyed, unlovely woman, and he an unkempt, gipsy-likefellow with lean face and hungry, wolf's eyes.

Well, to cut a long story short, I had contrived to make theiracquaintance, and had found that, underneath their rags and dirt, beattwo honest and unselfish hearts. I had told them to come always to meif in need of assistance of any sort—an invitation of which they tookadvantage only once, and then when their straits were desperate. Onevery other occasion I had found them touchily independent, and thoughI sometimes bought flowers, bullrushes, mistletoe, or fern-roots fromthem for the decoration of my house or garden, they would not accept afarthing from me in the shape of charity. If I wished to buy the waresthey had for sale, that was another matter; and even then I have reasonto know that I got more flowers, bullrushes, or fern roots for sixpencethan their usual customers got for a shilling.

For some twelvemonth we continued the best of friends. Then suddenlytheir visits ceased, and I set eyes on neither again until[Pg 273] I saw thepair of them at Shadwell—the woman curled up in the perambulator, andthe man pushing it.

"Nash!" I called out, running after them. "Nash, where have youbeen all this time? And why haven't you and Mrs. Nash been to see me?"

"We have been doing pretty much the same as usual, sir," he repliedstiffly; "and thank you for asking." Then touching his ragged cap, hesaid brusquely, "Good day, sir," and, pushing the perambulator beforehim, passed along.

But I was not thus easily to be shaken off. At first he stood verymuch on his dignity, answering my questions, in regard to himselfand his doings, with civil but manifest unwillingness, but at last Icontrived—and then only with difficulty—to discover wherein I hadoffended.

On the last occasion, when they had visited me, I had said to him, ashe was passing out: "Well, good-bye, Nash. Mind, if ever you get intotrouble, be sure to come or to send to me, and I'll do my best to getyou out."

By "trouble" I had meant illness, or the inability to scrape togetherthe small[Pg 274] sum they paid as rent for the miserable hovel in which theylived.

But in George Nash's world "trouble"—so I learned for the firsttime—has only one meaning when applied to a man (the word is used in adifferent sense in regard to a woman), and that meaning—jail.

"I don't see why you should have thought that of us, sir," Nash saidwith quiet dignity. "Poor we may be, but at least we've managed to keephonest. And the inside of a prison we're never likely to see. We thankyou kindly for what you've done for us, sir, the missis and me, but ifyou think as we're that sort, well, sir, we've made a mistake aboutyou, and you've made a mistake about us, and we wish you good-day."

Turning doggedly to the perambulator, he touched his hat and passed on.

"Why, my dear fellow," I said hotly, following him, and taking him bythe hand, "such a thought never entered my head. I'd leave you—andfor the matter of that I have left you or your wife—in my roomalone with every farthing I possess lying about openly, and never evendream of counting it, or of thinking of it at all.

[Pg 275]

"Well," I went on, when I had at last persuaded him that he had doneme an injustice, "well, and what on earth is the meaning of Mrs. Nashbeing cooped up in this perambulator? She looks very white and thin. Ido hope she isn't ill."

"Yes, sir; she's very ill," was the answer. "Got something wrong insideher, the doctor said, that'll have to be cut out. I'm taking her toReading now."

"To Reading?" I said. "But why to Reading? I can easily arrange to gether into a good hospital for women here."

"No, sir, thank you kindly. She's set on going to Reading, and nowhereelse. The doctor there (she's been there afore, you know) don't treatpoor folk as some other doctors do. They don't mean not to be kind, butthey speak so sharp, it frightens her. The doctor at Reading—ah! he isdifferent. She ain't a bit afraid of him. She won't go anywhere but toReading. She's set on it, sir, and so am I."

Knowing the man as I did, I could see that it was no use to argue withhim.

"I see," I said. "Quite right, George. I'll come with you as far asPaddington, if you'll let me. Shadwell Station is some[Pg 276] way yet. Youlook hot and tired already, and so I'll take a turn at pushing the pramwhile you rest. But if I may make a suggestion, I should say that thebest thing to do is to steer for the nearest place where we're likelyto find a four-wheeled cab and let me drive you to Paddington. How didyou propose taking Mrs. Nash there?"

"Same way as I'm taking her to Reading, sir," he said unconcernedly;"in the pram, of course."

"The pram!" I ejacul*ted. "My dear Nash, what nonsense! It's fortymiles! You can't wheel a grown woman forty miles in a child'sperambulator."

"Can't I, sir?" he said, smiling with an air of superiority. "I'vetaken her there twice before in the perambulator, and by picking up abit of work on the way we've managed nicely."

Then he looked at me queerly.

"Mr. Rissler," he said in a low voice, "will you take a word from a manas you've been a friend to, and as'd like to prove himself a friendof yours? I can't answer no question, and I didn't ought to say whatI'm going to say. I know as you're the poor man's friend, though youare one[Pg 277] of the gentry. But there's them as don't know it; and, sir,believe me, there's trouble ahead for the likes o' you—bitter trouble,bloody trouble. You take my word for it. And this is what I want tosay to you, sir. When the trouble comes, if you should find yourselfamong enemies, if you should find yourself in danger o' your life,as'll happen to many like you afore long, just you throw up your leftarm with your fist closed, and say, 'God and Napoleon and the Dumplingstrike with a granite arm!'"

He looked furtively around him as if afraid of being overheard byeavesdroppers, and then repeated the sentence, "'God and Napoleon andthe Dumpling strike with a granite arm!' That's the word, sir. Do youthink you can remember it?"

Inwardly amused at the seriousness with which the foolish fellow wastaking the Dumpling's rhodomontade, but hiding my amusem*nt under aface portentously grave, lest I should give my well-meaning friendoffence, I replied:

"Yes, I can remember it, and I'll be sure to bear your words in mind,if necessity comes. Thank you very much, Nash."

But to myself I said:

[Pg 278]

"A grown woman! Wheeled forty miles in a perambulator to undergo anoperation! And for no other reason than that the doctor at Reading iskind and doesn't speak sharp to the poor! My God!"

THE GREAT INSURRECTION BEGINS.

Looking back now upon the time of which I am writing, I cannotaltogether acquit myself of criminal negligence for failing torealise—until it was too late to take action—how insidiously and howthoroughly the Dumpling was doing his work. Nash's warning—though Iwas by no means disposed to take it seriously—had not been altogethera surprise to me, for I knew already that inflammatory speeches werebeing delivered, inflammatory literature circulated broadcast. Tothese I attached small importance, having too much faith in the commonsense and in the conservatism of my fellow-countrymen to believe thatthe Dumpling could induce them to take concerted action upon anyconsiderable scale. I have since learned that secret meetings wereheld nearly every night; but instead of one mass meeting, which mustinevitably have attracted the attention of the police, the Dumpling, aprince of organisers, had arranged for[Pg 280] innumerable small gatheringsin every part of London. At each of these meetings some member ofthe General Council, and therefore in close touch with the Dumplinghimself, would preside, and in this way their leader's plans were madeknown, a plan of campaign laid down, and concerted action arrangedin the most secret yet thorough way. Immense sums of money, so Iafterwards learned, were expended in the purchase and in the secretstorage of arms; and foreign mercenaries and expert marksmen, whoseservices the Dumpling had requisitioned, were constantly pouring intoLondon to place themselves at his orders.

Had I still been engaged in detective work, something of all this must,I think, have come to my notice; but I am so constituted as to be ableto do one thing only at a time. Whatever pursuit I take up, into thatpursuit I throw myself heart and soul, to the exclusion of everythingelse. This temperamental defect—if a defect it be—may be the secretof some of my many failures; it may be the secret of my few successes.Concentration of interests generally means limitation of interests,and whether one be racking the heavens nightly through[Pg 281] a telescopein search of new worlds, or only peering through a microscope, toisolate bacilli of this or that disease—one is equally apt to becomeabsent-minded in other matters. So entirely had I given myself up tostudying the problem of the poor, that I had eyes for nothing else.

It is not, however, my intention further to describe, in thesepages, the harrowing scenes I witnessed while so occupied. Were I acommissioner, appointed to report to a Committee of Inquiry upon thecondition of the poor, I should, it is true, have painful, revolting,and even incredible facts to recount. I could give chapter and verse inproof of inconceivable infamy. I could give instances of men, women,and even children living under circ*mstances more degrading than couldbe found in any so-called savage race. I should, in common honesty, becompelled to admit that by many of these who are most in evidence, asin search of work—work is the very last thing in the world that theyreally desire to find. Hymn-bawling in the streets is the nearest mostof them have ever come to earning their bread by the sweat of theirbrow; a few hours processioning and posing as unemployed, the[Pg 282] hardestday's work many of them ever did.

And yet, admitting all this, and speaking as one who has seen somethingof the poor, and of their homes, I say, and in all sincerity, of thevery poor as a whole, that I find it hard to express my admiration, myrespect, and my reverence for the unselfishness, the courage, and thenobility which I have known them to display.

There came a time at last when the strenuousness of the work I wasdoing began to tell terribly upon me. It has been said that profoundsympathies are always in association with keen sensibilities, andthat keen sensibilities expose their possessor to a depth of anguishutterly unintelligible to those who are differently constituted. Inmy own case the hopelessness of the struggle in which I was engagedweighed constantly upon me. Men and women—and, worst of all, littlechildren—were starving literally by the thousand, and all my effortscould do no more than bring relief each day to perhaps a dozen. Mymoney was gone; the health by which I could earn more money was fastgiving way, and what I had accomplished, and could hope to accomplish,[Pg 283]seemed, when compared with what remained to be done, like the taking ofa drop of water from the sea.

One evening, after visiting a case of destitution and misery soharrowing that it was only by a tremendous effort I was able to controlmyself, and to speak cheerfully and hopefully to the sufferers, I cameout into the dark street, and, once alone, to my unspeakable disgustand dismay, burst into tears.

When a man of strong physique, normal by nature, and in no sensehysterical, gets into a condition so over-wrought as this, he is on theverge of a nervous breakdown, as was proved in my own person.

The next morning I was so seriously ill that I was compelled to keep mybed for some days, after which I was ordered to Brighton.

I returned to my chambers in Adelphi Terrace on Sunday morning, tofind London dull to the very point of stagnation. So few people I donot ever remember, even on a Sunday, to have seen in the streets.The Strand was for once justified of its name, for it was like somesea strand or[Pg 284] beach from which the tide has withdrawn, leaving along stretch of untenanted sands. Yet that same night the returningup-gathered tidal wave swept and broke over London like a devastatingsea.

A meeting of the unemployed was, I saw by the papers, to be held thatafternoon in Victoria Park. Instead of the few thousands whom thepublic had expected to assemble, the meeting—no doubt by pre-concertedaction—mustered nearly half a million. The organisation of thisunwieldy mob was wonderful.

At five minutes to three the people were sullenly, suspiciously silent.At three a bugle-call was heard, and suddenly in their midst the redflag was raised, and at that sight the hounds of insurrection gavetongue, baying for blood, in one prolonged and awful roar, that mighthave been heard a mile away.

Then the Dumpling, who was standing on the pedestal of a drinkingfountain, raised his hand, and again the bugle-call rang out. Anotherroar burst forth as, in every part of the open space of the park, poleswere set up, on the top of which were immense black boards, each witha letter[Pg 285] of the alphabet printed prominently upon it in white. Withone accord the multitude broke up to sort itself into huge companies,according to the letter of the alphabet under which each had beenpreviously instructed to place himself. Another bugle-call, and fromhundreds of houses, surrounding the park, companies of men were seen tocome forth, carrying weapons for distribution. For months this secretstorage of weapons in private houses had been going on all over London,with the result that when the outbreak came, every man knew where toobtain a weapon. In the neighbourhood of the park itself it was, ofcourse, not possible to store a sufficient number of rifles to arm morethan some few thousands of men; but those so armed had been more orless drilled and trained to shoot. They were placed in the van of theLabour army with the foreign mercenaries—expert riflemen—immediatelyin the forefront, ready to resist the first attacking force, whether ofthe military or of the police.

Then, at a signal from the Dumpling, the bugle was once again sounded,and the westward march commenced by a route so[Pg 286] planned that weaponsfor those still unarmed could be picked up at the various storagecentres on the way.

The rebel army, more than half a million strong, and led by its newNapoleon, was marching on London. The Revolution of which the Dumplinghad so often boasted had begun.

BLOODSHED.

When, at the head of his Labour legions, the Dumpling set forthon that eventful Sunday afternoon to march westwards, he and hislieutenants—and, by means of his lieutenants, his men—knew exactlywhat work lay in front of them. That work done, the order had goneforth that the multitude was to break up, and each man was to returnquietly to his home, so that next day, at the hour appointed, thelegions might re-assemble, rested and ready for the fray. It was knownthat the Dumpling had told off a certain number of picked and triedmen to patrol the streets after the hour of dismissal, and throughthe night, and that these patrols would deal summarily with all whodisobeyed orders.

The man with a genius for organisation is rare. The man who has notonly a genius for organisation, but has also a genius for compellingother people implicitly to accept his orders, and to abide by hisorganisation[Pg 288] —the man who can, at will, mould mankind in the lump,as the potter moulds clay—comes only once in a hundred years. Sucha man was the Dumpling. Instead of letting his vast army straggleinvertebrately westwards under his single command, his system ofsubdividing it into companies, each under a separate picked leader,taking orders from himself, worked out with surprisingly successfulresults. There was no aimless moving from place to place. Though EastLondon was practically in the hands of the rioters, orders had beengiven that no man was to leave the ranks, and that London Fieldswas to be the first halting-place, each company to march thither bya pre-arranged route. At every open space where two or more roadsmet—as, for instance, Hackney Triangle—and where assailing forces ofpolice or military might be expected, expert riflemen, sent on slightlyin advance of the main body, were stationed. At Hackney Triangle itwas, indeed, that the first brush with the police occurred. Some twoor three hundred of the force, hastily gathered together, attemptedto stem the onward march of the rioters. The Dumpling at once cameforward,[Pg 289] speaking to them considerately, even humanely.

"With you personally," he said, "we have no quarrel; you we have nowish to harm. These people are your brethren, and you are theirs. Theonly difference between you and them is that you wear the uniform of aSocial System to which we are here to put an end. By that ending youwill benefit as much as we. You, no less than we, are the servants ofan iniquitous system, by which all the hardship, the toil, and theprivations of life are apportioned to one class, and all the ease,luxury, wealth, and comfort to another. You are poorly paid; you areiron ruled. You must tramp the streets by day and by night, exposedto burning heat and biting cold, risking your life daily—and forno other reason than that the rich, the vicious, the luxurious, thesweaters of the poor, the oppressors of the people, may increase theirill-gotten gains and live their idle, easy lives of pleasure-seekingand debauchery. In risking your lives to protect your fellow-citizensagainst crime, you are doing noble and heroic work, for which youare inadequately paid. But we are not criminals. We have donewrong[Pg 290] to none. We are men and women like you, compelled at last, atthe cost of our lives if it must be, to assert the common right of allGod's creatures to live. We and our wives and children have starved andsuffered over-long. But our rights we will have, so help us God, and Iappeal to you, our brother men, who have many of you wives and childrenof your own, not to shed our blood, or to compel us to shed yours, indefending ourselves. You have done your work well and faithfully, aswitness your heroic attempt—mere handful as you are—to oppose thisarmy of God which, as surely as you and I still breathe the breath oflife, is marching on to victory. Brother Englishmen, brother citizens,brother sufferers, let us not shed each other's blood. Join us; throwin your lot with us; cast off the yoke of the tyrant, and you shallshare in the rewards which shall soon be ours."

He stopped, panting with passion; and then—the words snapping likethree pistol-shots following the one after the other—came the order ofthe officer in command of the police: "Arrest—that—man!"

"For God's sake, for humanity's sake, don't compel us to violence,"interposed the[Pg 291] Dumpling with lifted hand. "If you wish to come tohand-grips with us, if you wish to test the temper of the people, youshall have plenty of opportunity, I promise, later on. You have done,at this point, all that is required. You have done your duty bravelyand well. Few as you are, compared to us, you can do nothing more. Forthe present, at least, retire until the odds are less unequal. It wouldbe suicide, at this juncture, to oppose us by force, for in that case Iwarn you I shall give my sharp-shooters the order to fire, and you willfall almost to a man."

Again he stopped, and again came the police officer's word of command:

"Officers, do your duty. Arrest that man."

They were the last words he was to speak on earth, for as they passedhis lips the Dumpling raised a hand.

"God's will be done!" he said. "I can say no more. Riflemen, makeready! Present! Fire!"

The result was what he had foretold. The gallant little band of policefell, dead or dying, almost to a man.

THE BATTLE OF TOWER HILL.

From that moment onward the rebels carried all before them. The firstencounter with soldiery was at London Fields, where a regiment ofmilitia, hastily summoned from a neighbouring barracks, was drawnup. The militia showed more discretion than the police, for afterdischarging one volley, and being raked by a withering fire from therebel sharp-shooters in return, they retreated in disorder.

This time the Dumpling was less merciful.

"They have deliberately raised hand against the people, to do murder!"he said. "And by the God whose instrument I am, for every life theyhave taken, a score of them shall fall!"

Instructions were given to the rebel riflemen to continue firing solong as one of the soldiers remained within range. The result wasdisastrous to the retreating troops. In an open space with no availablecover, they could be picked off one after the other[Pg 293] by the Dumpling'spractised marksmen, with the result that scarcely a round dozen escapedto tell the tale.

Flushed with victory, the rebels re-formed, and the march was resumed,this time to Tower Hill, where the Dumpling scored his first greatsuccess of generalship.

Anticipating that at Tower Hill serious military resistance wouldbe offered, he had laid his plans accordingly. An enormous emptywarehouse, commanding the open space in front of the Tower, had beenrented by one of his agents, under the pretence that it was to bethe central office and storage house of a firm of tea merchants. Atthis warehouse, chests and packages, purporting to contain tea, butcontaining in reality rifles and ammunition, had for some days pastbeen delivered, and a number of men—nominally clerks, packers, andwarehousem*n, but in reality expert riflemen, disloyal Boers andforeign mercenaries—constituted the staff, and were, on the Sundayafternoon in question, concealed upon the premises.

The secreting of these expert riflemen in a position where they couldcommand Tower Hill and riddle with bullets any troops assembled below,was, however, only one[Pg 294] item in the Dumpling's carefully plannedcampaign. Knowing that it would be from the east or north-east therioters would approach, the officer in command of the troops had placedhis batteries so that the guns could rake both the Minories and RoyalMint Street—the thoroughfares by which the rebel forces must almost ofnecessity come. Upon Royal Mint Street and the Minories the attentionof the soldiers was consequently riveted, and when the military scouts,who had been sent out to ascertain the movements of the enemy, camegalloping back to say that one half of the Dumpling's forces wasapproaching from the north by way of the Minories and the other halffrom the east by Royal Mint Street—the command was:

"Now, boys, they're coming down the two streets upon which we've gotour guns trained. Keep cool! Be ready! But don't fire and don't move,any of you, until I give the word." And to Royal Mint Street and theMinories every eye was turned.

All this the Dumpling had foreseen, and had laid his plans accordingly.Why he should have been so anxious to time his arrival at Tower Hillalmost at the moment[Pg 295] of five, those who were not acquainted with hisplan of campaign could not understand. They did not know that, at thathour, a huge contingent of armed rebels, recruited from Bermondsey andSouth London and under the leadership of the Dumpling's most trustedlieutenant, was punctually to cross Tower Bridge, to the dismay andconsternation of the troops, who had looked for no onslaught from thatquarter. Nor did those who were not in the Dumpling's confidence knowthat, at the same time, yet another contingent of armed rebels, underable leadership, would converge upon Tower Hill from Thames Street andGreat Tower Street, so that the soldiers were simultaneously attackedfrom the north, south, east, and west, and that at a moment when theywere looking for danger only from two quarters.

Everything worked out exactly as the Dumpling had planned it. Atfive minutes to five the vanguards of the advancing armies were seenapproaching from Royal Mint Street and the Minories. Almost at the verymoment that the soldiers were preparing to fire, the windows of the teawarehouse were opened, and a deadly volley poured upon the[Pg 296] unfortunategunners by the riflemen who had been concealed within its walls.Utterly taken aback and dismayed, the soldiers turned to see whencethe attack came—only to find hostile armies, in each case with pickedmarksmen in the van, approaching on every hand.

Then the Dumpling gave the word to charge. In ten minutes scarcely asoldier was left alive, their guns and their ammunition were taken,and the Tower of London, and its armouries, were in the hands of theDumpling.

Contrary to the expectations of his lieutenants, he announced thathe had no intention of remaining there, or even of leaving men inoccupation.

"Clear out the place—take all we want," he said to the half-dozen whowere entirely in his confidence, "and then evacuate it. That's theticket! To remain here would be telling the King's troops where to findus. That they must never know. Ours is to be a guerilla warfare. Wemeet on no two days in the same place. Each night, our day's work done,we disband—to re-assemble next day and to descend upon our enemiesfrom North, South, East, or West,[Pg 297] or possibly from all four corners ofthe compass together, as the chances of war may make necessary. As astrategic position, the Tower of London is of no earthly use to us. Butwe haven't done all our work here yet.

"First, call up the string of forage vans which I have ordered to keepwell in our rear, and give instructions to the men to have a good meal.The last three vans have red crosses upon them, as if to indicate thatthey contain hospital requirements. So they do—two of them, that is.The third contains the bombs and explosives which we carried awaythat night from the opium den. Before leaving this place we have toconstruct a secret mine—you must do the work yourselves—by which wecan at any time blow up the Tower and everyone in it, in case the enemyshould garrison it and use it as vantage ground against us. Get to workat once and report to me when all is ready, for we have other businesson hand to-night, that London and England and all the world may know wemean to carry out what we have begun."

Two hours later, the bugle-calls to re-assemble were sounded, and therebel army[Pg 298] re-formed to march westward by way of the Minories andLeadenhall Street to Cornhill, and so to the Bank of England, the StockExchange, the Royal Exchange, and the Mansion House, all of which weresacked and looted by the revolutionaries.

This—so the Dumpling had decided—was to end the work for that day.The bugles of dismissal were sounded; and little by little the greatarmies of Labour melted away.

LONDON IN REVOLUTION.

Because the Rising had seemingly broken out in one day, because on theSaturday night London had gone to bed in peace and quietness, on theSunday night London was aflame, and, on the Monday morning, Londonwas apparently at peace again—because of all this, some hope wasentertained in certain high official quarters that the trouble wouldsubside as suddenly as it had arisen.

So, at least—possibly for the prevention of panic—it was pretended,and when, at mid-day, there was no sign of a reassembling of the forcesunder the Dumpling's command the belief was expressed in certain earlyafternoon papers that the threatened safety of the Empire was assured.

But the police were wiser. They knew that though the firing of the fusehad been but a night's, or even a moment's, work, the laying of themine had been going on for years; and though the suddenness of[Pg 300] therising, coming as it did on a Sunday, had taken them unawares, it hadnot found them altogether unprepared, as after-events proved.

But on Monday, at mid-day, a sudden reaction set in. The wildestrumours were afloat of some awful danger that assailed not only London,but the very Empire.

The fact of the Dumpling's extraordinary resemblance to Napoleon,and of his claim to be the great Napoleon himself, had got abroad,and religious fanatics proclaimed him to be the Beast of the Book ofRevelation, the anti-Christ who was to come. Them and their diatribesno sane man heeded; but that something was afoot which directlymenaced our very existence as a nation, was believed by all. It wasopenly stated that the Dumpling and the German Emperor were acting inconcert, and that it was from Germany that the arms and the funds whichfurnished the rioters with the sinews of war had come.

The Kaiser was depicted as not only jealous of the popularity of KingEdward, but as hating the form of Limited Monarchy which exists inEngland, and as anxious to establish, first in Europe, and finally allover[Pg 301] the world, the autocratic rule which prevails in his own countryand in Russia. The Dumpling—so it was openly stated—had succeededin convincing the Kaiser of the genuineness of his claim to be there-incarnation of Napoleon. An agreement had been come to between thetwo men by which it was arranged that, if the Kaiser would assistthe Dumpling to obtain supreme power in England, this country shouldbe put under the rule of an Absolute Monarchy even more despotic andmore autocratic than that of Russia and Germany. That once achieved,the German Emperor and the Dumpling would combine against France, andre-establish the Monarchy there.

Already, so it was stated, the German war squadron was on its wayto England, and German vessels of every sort were conveying an armyof half a million of men to this country, nominally to assist KingEdward's troops in crushing the rebellion. Once, however, they hadsucceeded in effecting a landing, the real purpose for which theyhad come here would be revealed, and they would co-operate with theDumpling's forces, and officially recognise his claim to be Emperorof England and of France. The fact that[Pg 302] a German squadron had sailedwith sealed orders the day before the outbreak, lent some colourto this preposterous theory, and the fact, also, that undoubtedlysomething in the nature of a panic prevailed at Court, went far tosupport it. What was wrong there nobody knew. The Prince of Wales andthe Prime Minister, it was known, had been hastily summoned, and haddriven to Buckingham Palace in hot haste, surrounded on every side byescorts large enough to be spoken of as small armies. An hour aftertheir arrival, the King, so it was stated, had, in response to a loyaldemonstration outside the Palace, appeared for a moment at a window,hurriedly bowed, and as hurriedly retired.

Clearly something was wrong at Court, and what that something was, andhow intimately concerned in it I was to be, I could not in my wildestdreams have conceived.

THE GREAT FIGHT IN FLEET STREET.

Until three o'clock on Monday afternoon there was no new disturbance,no reassembling of the rioters; but soon after that hour it was clearthat something was astir. This time there was no marching in companies,but the vast crowds that were quietly but systematically pouringcityward from every quarter were clearly acting under instructions, andaccording to some method of organisation. So far as I could see, it wastowards the open space in front of the Royal Exchange that the crowdwas converging, and thither I allowed myself to be carried with thestream.

On this occasion it was quite clear that the mob was neither sanguinenor confident, and for this there were reasons. The first was theabsence of the Dumpling. That he was to have met his lieutenants ata certain hour, and at a certain place, that morning, but for someunaccountable cause had failed to keep the appointment, was alreadycommon[Pg 304] knowledge. When he was present, that heterogeneous gatheringseemed organic. It acted not as a mob, but as one man; and one man,in a sense, it was, since each contingent—come as it might fromBermondsey, from Poplar, or from Canning Town—seemed like one ofthe limbs of a human body, of which this man, the Dumpling, was thecontrolling brain.

By his absence, however, this body politic seemed dismembered. Themagnetism exercised by his single personality was extraordinary. Solong as he was known to be at their head, the rioters followed theirappointed leaders, his lieutenants, with fearless confidence, movingand acting in concert, not like an undisciplined mob, but like drilledtroops, trained and controlled by a master of men. Now, in a singleday, the whole movement seemed, in his absence, to have gone to pieces.

Another reason for the nervousness of the rioters was the mysteriousaction, or inaction, of the military and the police. No attempteither to prevent the people from assembling, or to dispersethem when assembled, had been made; and no blue or red-coatedmyrmidons of the civil or[Pg 305] of the military forces had attempted tobar the thoroughfares, or to offer opposition of any sort to therevolutionaries. With the Dumpling present, as their leader and head,the absence of the police and of the military would have been countedby the mob as a signal proof of the completeness of their victory. Withhim away, it seemed ominous of ambush, pregnant with evil; and whenthe Dumpling's second in command announced that he intended, in theirleader's absence, to carry out the plan of campaign as arranged bytheir leader himself, and gave the order for the riflemen to form up,and for the rank and file to fall in behind, the order, though obeyed,was obeyed spiritlessly and unwillingly.

Then came the news that troops, mounted and on foot, were approachingby way of Queen Victoria Street and Cheapside; and as the trees of agreat forest sway and waver before the coming of a storm, so over therebel army there passed a sudden tremor, as if the members of that armywere undecided whether to fight or to fly.

Sharp and clear, however, came the words of command, and sullenly thelegions of Labour prepared for the fray. Once[Pg 306] again victory restedwith the revolutionaries. Nor was I surprised, for to me, at that stageof the struggle, it seemed as if the police and the soldiers had bidedtheir time too long. An armed mob gathered together in the space knownas the Poultry, and holding all the approaches, would be difficultto dislodge, presenting as it did a solid phalanx to any opposingforce which, owing to the comparative narrowness of the convergingthoroughfares, would of necessity be compelled to present a somewhatnarrow front to the rebel army. Queen Victoria Street, it is true,being broad, would allow the soldiery to come on in companies, formingan attacking line of formidable length. This, however, the Dumpling'ssecond in command had realised, for, immediately facing Queen VictoriaStreet, he placed the pick of the rebel riflemen. No sooner did thetroop of cavalry, which was advancing upon the rioters, come withinrange, than the barrels of the riflemen, and the saddles of the frontrow of soldiery, were almost simultaneously emptied. After each volleyQueen Victoria Street was for a moment blocked by a line of deadand dying soldiers and horses, but no sooner was the opposing linere-formed,[Pg 307] and ready to come on, before another volley from the rebelriflemen emptied every saddle again.

In Queen Victoria Street, at least, the victory of the rebels wascomplete, and what happened to the troops in Queen Victoria Street,happened upon a smaller scale to the police and to the military whoattempted to disperse the mob by making charges by way of Cheapside,Lombard Street, and the other narrower approaches. Recognising thehopelessness of the position, and anxious to husband their strength forthe final struggle, the officers in command of the police and of themilitary gave the word for withdrawal. In this withdrawal the mob sawa tacit admission of defeat, and became more reckless, more eager fordestruction, more difficult of organisation. Freed from the restrainingand controlling influence of the Dumpling, it swept along Cheapside toSt. Paul's and down Ludgate Hill, no longer an organised rising witha definite end in view, but a rabble of reckless ruffians, ready andgreedy to rob, to rape, to wreck, and to destroy.

At Ludgate Circus it divided, part going westward by way of FleetStreet and the[Pg 308] Strand, another part by way of St. Bride Street, andyet another by the Embankment.

Then it was that the police and the soldiery showed how preparedthey were for the outbreak, how admirable was their organisation.Suddenly down St. Bride Street, and moving by some inside and unseenmotor-power, there appeared a procession of engines of war, the likeof which none of the rioters had ever seen. These engines had beenconstructed secretly and in sections so as to be ready to put togetherand run out at a moment's notice, and had been concealed at the variousfire stations till such time as they should be required.

Imagine, if you can, that a square-built fort had suddenly detacheditself at the corners, so as to break up into four armed sections, eachof which presented on either side an iron-plated front, almost as steepand almost as high as the side of a house, with gun-mouths grinningout at regular intervals. Armoured trains the rioters had heard of,but armoured sides of an iron-built house, moving, each complete initself, upon unseen wheels in a long procession down St. Bride Street,was something entirely[Pg 309] new. For an instant the mob surged back, awedand wondering. Then, like an angry sea leaping against a breakwater, itflung itself forward upon the first of these new and advancing enginesof war.

But for the tragic loss of life, the impotency of the rush would havebeen ludicrous. It was as if a child, by the throwing of a handful ofsand, had tried to stop a motor-car going at the top of its speed. Thehuge instrument of war not only did not swerve an inch from its course,but, so great was its weight, that it passed, without so much as abump, over the bodies of those who fell beneath it, scrunching bone andlimb into shapeless and quivering pulp.

Then from either side belched sheets of flame, and, for the first timesince the rising, the mob fell back and away, leaving the monsters ofwar-mechanism to accomplish their manœuvres unhindered.

On the four moving walls filed, like a troop of ambling elephants. Theforemost wheeled heavily round the obelisk in the centre of LudgateCircus till it blocked London southwards by barricading off New BridgeStreet and Blackfriars Bridge. The second steered round the obeliskwestward,[Pg 310] till it faced and closed Fleet Street. The third stretcheditself eastward across the foot of Ludgate Hill; and the fourth,by spanning the road where St. Bride Street and Farringdon Streetbifurcate, thus closed those roads to all comers.

The four walls now formed a huge square, and as soldiers "dress" theline and close up in a drill yard, so at a given signal—a shrillwhistle twice repeated—the four sides edged closer and closertogether, till, if I may use such a term, they touched elbows. Thencame a second signal—the same whistle three times repeated—and nowthere were the clink and rattle of bolts and chains. The four wallswere locked impregnably together, thus forming a fort, facing London onevery side. No sooner was the locking accomplished than, upon the wallsof the fort, hundreds of policemen swarmed to complete the closing upof the streets. At a word of command from above, iron barriers shot outto the required lengths from the four corners of the fort below, andwhen it was impossible to adjust these barriers with sufficient nicety,absolutely to close every opening, huge sacks of sand were hurled fromthe walls, so that in less than five[Pg 311] minutes the army of rioters wasdivided up into four separate wings, each for the moment effectuallycut off from holding any communication with any of the others.

The great body of the rebel army and the riflemen were, however, nowwest of Ludgate Circus, and passing up Fleet Street and the Strand; sothat the closing of the ways seemed for a few minutes to have come toolate.

But the authorities who had anticipated this outbreak, and preparedfor it by constructing these street-barricading forts, knew what theywere about. From mouth to mouth of the rebels, passing up Fleet Street,Strandwards, the word was repeated that similar forts now blockedadvance at Charing Cross.

Panic-stricken, the mob surged down the side streets to the Embankment,only to find that similar barriers had been erected at either end.Then the forts at every point opened fire, and with terrible results.The scenes that followed I do not wish further to describe, except tosay that, for the present at least, the rout of the leaderless rebelswas complete, and only a shattered section[Pg 312] escaped to press on toBuckingham Palace, the point to which all contingents of that greatarmy had been instructed to converge.

PRINCE DUMPLING.

At Charing Cross, soon after the defeat and dispersion of the rebels,I had caught sight of a face which set my heart beating wildly—theproud, pale face of Kate, who was sitting at the window of a hotel.Sending up my name, I was at once admitted, Kate clinging to me, andcrying over me, as if I were a soldier returned from the wars.

"I won't leave you again, darling," I said, "no matter what you or youraunt may command or urge. How is that kindest of friends of mine?"

"I haven't seen her since soon after you—you—you—left us," was thereply. "She went away by herself on some important business, and wasto have returned to-day to Taunton Square, where I have been stayingfor the last week by myself. But something happened there that—thatfrightened and upset me, Max dear, so I came on here, and left word toAunt Clara where to find me. Ah! here she is."

[Pg 314]

Miss Clara kissed first Kate and then me, after which, turning to herniece, she said:

"What was it that frightened you and drove you away from TauntonSquare? The rioters?"

"No, aunt. I—I—hardly know how to tell you and Max. It was soterrible. It was—it was—the Dumpling."

"The Dumpling!" exclaimed Miss Clara and I together.

"Yes, the Dumpling," replied Kate, putting her hands before her eyes,as if to shut out some hateful vision. "I wasn't so much afraid of himas of what I saw in his eyes—that awful picture——"

"I have something to tell you about him myself," said Miss Clara,quietly. "Something that it is time both you and Max knew. But, first,let us hear your story."

"I was sitting alone one evening in the dark in the conservatory,"said Kate, "and feeling suddenly cold and frightened—I did not knowat what—I put out a hand and switched on the electric light. There,glaring in at me from the window outside, I saw a man's face. It wasthe man Max called the Dumpling. I recognised him at once by thedescription. The[Pg 315] face was gone almost as I looked, but before itwent I saw a picture in its eyes—a picture that seemed to be—thatsomething tells me was true, but is so awful that I can hardlybear to think, still less to speak, of it. But speak of it I must, forI can bear the suspense no longer.

"I saw myself as a girl, standing in a church before an altar, beingmarried to this terrible man! Aunt, darling! Tell me it was all adream, and that it isn't true. It seemed hideously, cruelly true as Isaw it; and I know, now, that I have seen him before—that the man isno stranger to me, and that I knew him long ago."

"Yes, darling," said the elder Miss Carleton, taking the sobbing girlin her arms, "it is quite true. Listen, and you shall hear the facts.I can tell them in a very few words. You were a mere girl of seventeenat a boarding school in America when you first met this man. He was oneof the masters, and was known as 'The Prince,' because he claimed to bea son of Napoleon the Third, and, in fact, I believe there was truthin his claim. But he fell desperately in love with you, and you, aninnocent girl, with no thought of husband or love-making,[Pg 316] laughed athim. All this you will remember yourself. What you will not remember isthat the man, who has strange occult powers, hypnotised or mesmerisedyou one day, and when you were in that state, and did not know what youwere doing, compelled you to go through the form of marriage with him.I was staying in the neighbourhood of the school at the time, so as tobe near you, your dear mother being recently dead; and hearing that youhad been seen going out with 'The Prince'—no one knew why—I found outin what direction you and he had gone, and followed, for I disliked anddistrusted him from the first. But I was too late. The ceremony wasover. You were—and, I fear, are—the man's wife. Even if we had goneto law, to attempt to upset the marriage, we might not have won, forhypnotic influence is hard to prove in the unsympathetic atmosphere ofthe law courts, and, even if we had won, the scandal and shock mighthave killed you, for you were already worn to a shadow by fretting foryour mother. I shrank from the thought of such a scandal, as I knew youwould have shrunk; and, rightly or wrongly, I did what seemed best[Pg 317] tome under the circ*mstances. I am not long in making up my mind, and, mymind once made up, I do not hesitate to act.

"You were sitting, white and trembling, in a pew near the door. 'ThePrince' had followed the minister into an inner room or vestry, perhapsto pay the fee. The key of the vestry door was on the outside. Withouta moment's hesitation I turned the key, locking the two of them in,so as to give us a few minutes in which to get away. Then I got youout, half supporting you, half carrying you, to where my own carriagewas waiting, lifted you in, jumped in myself, and told the coachmanto drive with all possible speed to the railway station. Here we werejust in time to catch an express to New York, and when you recoveredfrom the mesmeric state into which you had been thrown, and I foundthat you knew nothing of what had happened, I determined to keep my owncounsel, and have told no one—not even your own father—the facts.From New York we went next day to Europe, travelling from country tocountry, so that the villain who had ruined your life might neverfind you. I had hoped that he was long since dead, and it was only[Pg 318]when Max was telling us of the Dumpling's claim to be Napoleon thatthe horrible possibility—a possibility which afterwards became acertainty—occurred to me.

"Even in those far-away days he had dreams of a revolution which hewas one day to accomplish in England; even then he was passionately insympathy with the poor, and talked about them exactly as he talked toMax. I recognised, from Max's description, the man whom he called 'TheDumpling,' as the man you and I had long ago known as 'The Prince,'and realised that he had tracked us at last. That was why Max saw himshadowing the house, and that is why you saw his face watching youthrough the window-pane. That was why I sent Max away, for while thatman lives you can never be Max's wife."

"She shall be my wife," I interrupted, "if only she willconsent to do me such high honour; for be this man 'Prince,' or be he'Dumpling,' he has no power to come between Kate and me. You have toldyour story—now listen to mine."

THE MAN IN THE CELLAR.

"Yesterday night—so much has happened since then that it is difficultto believe it was so short a time ago—yesterday night, after therioters had disbanded and gone home, I returned to my rooms in AdelphiTerrace, and after I had had some supper, I stepped out on the balcony,to smoke and to listen if all was quiet.

"As I re-entered my room, someone, concealed behind one of the heavycurtains, seized me suddenly from behind, and as I turned angrily tofree myself and to see who was my assailant, another man stepped outfrom behind the curtain on the other side of the window, and before Icould prevent him, clapped a handkerchief saturated with chloroformover my nose and mouth.

"When I came to myself, I found myself sitting in a strange room in thepresence of the Dumpling.

"'Mr. Rissler,' he said, 'I am very sorry to have been compelled tochloroform and[Pg 320] to abduct you. Believe me, no harm is intended you.That I should have an immediate interview at this point was imperative,and to bring you here, in the way in which you have been brought, wasthe safest, and quickest, and most convenient method. You might haverefused to come, or you might have frittered away invaluable time inprofitless discussions. And I, at least at the present juncture, haveno time to waste. You know that the revolution, of which I have alreadyspoken to you, has begun in earnest, and you know, no doubt, thatsuccess has crowned our efforts to-day, and that London is practicallyat our mercy.

"'My reason for sending for you is that I have something to showyou which will convince even you—difficult as you have been topersuade—of the folly of refusing to make terms with us; somethingthat will induce you at last to throw in your lot with us, to becomeone of us, and my acknowledged successor when I fall; something thateven you cannot deny is incontrovertible proof of our absolute andcomplete success.

"'No, don't say anything at this point, please,' he interrupted,holding up a repressing hand, for I was about to protest[Pg 321] that nothinghe could say, or could show me, would have the slightest influence ininducing me even to consider his proposition.

"'I know what you are going to say,' he went on. 'You are about torepudiate me and all my work. But wait! Say nothing yet which you mightafterwards regret and wish to withdraw. God has marked you out forthis work as surely as He has marked me, and that God is behind us, isworking with us and for us, even you will admit when you see the proofwhich I shall soon put before you. I have never despaired of winningyou, Rissler. Like Saul of Tarsus, you have fought against God andagainst His prophets, but even as Saul was convinced and converted toGod's will by the sign which came to him on the road to Damascus, evenso will you be convinced and converted by the sign which I am about tomake known to you. As Saul hardened his heart before the coming of theheavenly vision, even so have you hardened your heart against God'swill. But God can change your heart and open your eyes at a word, evenas He opened the eyes and changed the heart of Saul; and ere I die Ishall see you an acknowledged leader and hope[Pg 322] of the armies of Labourand of the Lord.'

"He walked over to a cupboard in a corner, and, to my astonishment,took out a huge military cloak with an immense collar, and athree-cornered hat like that worn by Napoleon.

"Drawing the cloak over his shoulders, and donning the hat, he stoodfor some minutes, his huge head sunk between his shoulders till hischin lay on his chest, his short legs straddled apart, and his handsclasped behind him, deep in thought. Amused as I was by his rantingand by the theatrical way in which he posed and dressed the part, hislikeness to the great Napoleon was so uncanny, so extraordinary, that,in spite of myself, I was awed and impressed. Then, with the singleword 'Come,' he turned and went out, I following him.

"Coming to the front door of the house, he opened it cautiously andlooked out. We were in a narrow and shabby side street of what I judgedto be the East End of London. At the moment of our emergence not asingle soul was in sight. The Dumpling crossed the road and gave fourslow and deliberate knocks at a door.

[Pg 323]

"'Who is there?' said a voice inside.

"'God and Napoleon and the Dumpling strike with granite arm!' was thereply, and the door was immediately opened, the Dumpling and I steppinginside. We were in the narrow hall or passage of a small dwellinghouse. The man who had admitted us closed the door, and then resumedhis chair, which was placed just inside the door. A newspaper which hehad been reading lay beside him on the floor, and two small paraffinlamps burned—or, rather, smoked—beside him on another chair.

"'All quiet, doorkeeper?' asked the Dumpling.

"'All quiet, sir,' was the answer.

"Then the Dumpling took up one of the lamps.

"'This way, Rissler,' he said, walking along the passage, till he cameto a door leading to the basem*nt or kitchen portion of the house.Producing a bunch of keys from his pocket, he unlocked the door, andwhen he and I had passed through, locked it carefully again.

"Passing down some stairs, we came to a stone-flagged passage, alongwhich we walked to another door, leading to a sort of[Pg 324] undergroundcellar. This door the Dumpling also unlocked, and, after we hadentered, re-locked; and as he did so, the dream-picture which I hadonce seen in his eyes, the picture of the Dumpling, myself, and a thirdand unknown man, standing together in an underground room, came back tome, and I knew that the place I was now in was the place I had seen inthe tableau.

"Then the Dumpling touched a spring, and a hidden door flew open,revealing a smaller inner room. A man, nonchalantly smoking a cigar,was standing in a far corner, and as, obeying the Dumpling's signal, Ipassed through the door and saw his face, I gave a short, sharp cry,and fell back in incredulous horror.

"'My God!' I said. 'It is not possible! The King!'"

"I FELL BACK IN INCREDULOUS HORROR."

THE MANTLE OF NAPOLEON.

"'On the contrary,' said the Dumpling, with a short laugh of devilishtriumph, 'on the contrary, it is quite possible with a King so trustfulthat he goes out for an evening stroll unattended. I admit that itcost us much laying of plans, and that we had mapped out, and preparedfor the abduction, half a hundred times before the actual chance camewhich it was safe to take. But, as you know, my dear Rissler, I don'tdo things by halves. London is practically in my hands, and when thefact of the King's disappearance leaks out, and we carry out themaster-stroke which is planned to come off to-morrow, the campaign willpractically be at an end, and victory, absolute and assured, be ours.They are doing their best at Court to keep the King's disappearancesecret, and have even gone so far, I am told, as to fix up an imitationKing, to come to the window and bow and show himself, and dupe thepublic—as, for some inexplicable[Pg 326] reason, they always do try to dupethe public when the health or the life or the death of royal personsis concerned. But they can't keep the secret much longer, and now thatLondon is in our hands, and his Majesty is here in safe keeping and ourprisoner, I trust and believe that he will prove reasonable and accedeto our very moderate terms.'

"It is, perhaps, not difficult for a King to impress onlookers withhis kingliness, when he is throned and robed and surrounded by bowingcourtiers, or when he is seen at the head of his army. But never hadKing of England looked kinglier than King Edward the Seventh lookedwhen, a prisoner and alone, in squalid, sordid surroundings, he turned,and thundered out:

"'Terms! I make no terms with murderers!'"

"'Murderers!'" hissed the Dumpling, menacingly. 'Remember that you arein my hands, my prisoner, unarmed and defenceless, and take back thatword, or by God you shall answer for it with your life.'

"'I am in God's hands,' replied the King quietly, 'and He will see toit that I am[Pg 327] soon taken out of the hands of such as you. As for yourthreats,' he laughed contemptuously, 'I will take back no word of whatI have said, even to save my life. But I waste breath arguing with onewho is a madman as well as a murderer!'

"'And when your Majesty is once more in possession of the liberty whichhe is so convinced God is about to restore to him, what do you proposeto do with me?' inquired the Dumpling mockingly.

"'With you!' said the King stolidly, but with infinite contempt. 'Withyou! Nothing. I am this country's King, not the common hangman. Youshall be dealt with by the proper authorities—make yourself easyabout that. You shall be examined, and if you are pronounced insane,will be clapped between walls, out of the way of working mischief toyourself or to others. If you are sane, you will be shot or hanged, orwhatever it is they do to traitors and treason-workers. I'm tolerablywell versed in methods of procedure, but fortunately you are the firsttraitor who's directly crossed my path.

"'But listen to me, you sir. Whatever punishment it is that is metedout to[Pg 328] such as you—whether hanging by the common hangman or whetherit be to be shot like a dangerous dog—I'll lift no hand to stay it.Not because of the personal indignity and affront you have dared tooffer to me, but because' (his voice rose, and he looked terrible inhis kingly wrath), 'because' (and now there was a tremor of pity inhis tone), 'because by you the blood of my loyal and true soldiers, mybrave officers, has been spilt, and because you have been the meansof bringing untold misery and suffering upon my people, whom you haveled away by your treason and by your devilries. For that, believe me,unsparing vengeance shall be exacted.'

"The Dumpling, who was livid with passion, turned away, and taking offhis cloak (his hat he had placed on a chair when coming in) laid itupon a table.

"As he did so, I saw the handle of a dagger protruding from an innerpocket, and as he turned to face the King again, I whipped it out, andthrusting it under my coat, clapped my left arm lightly against myside, to keep the weapon from slipping down. Then the King turned tome:

[Pg 329]

"'As for you, sir, I do not know who you may be, and do not greatlycare. But that you should be privy to this traitor and villain'sdevilry, proclaims you villain and traitor too, and I promise that you,as well as he, shall receive short shrift when you come into the handsof justice.'

"'Sir,' I said, falling on one knee and bowing lowly, 'believe me thatI am no traitor, and no friend of this man, but your Majesty's loyaland loving subject, who is prepared to defend, with his own life, yourMajesty's sacred person.'

"Then I rose and turned to the Dumpling, who was laughing derisively.

"'Very pretty indeed!' he said, slapping me jovially on the back. ''Ponmy word, Rissler, I had no idea you were such a born courtier—andactor! It tripped off your tongue as readily as if you had beenrehearsing it for weeks, and the way you dropped on your knee, andbowed, couldn't be beaten in the best Court circles—or on the stage.Don't tell me that you didn't all along suspect the surprise I had instore for you. You have been rehearsing that bow and knee-drop before acheval-glass, I'll wager, and many a time. It does you[Pg 330] credit, anyhow;and whether it was a rehearsed or an unprepared effect, it proves youto be a man of parts, and one who is an acquisition to any cause.

"'But what you have said puts a different complexion upon my plans foryour future,' he went on. 'I should like a word with you in the otherroom before we go any farther. Your Majesty must excuse my friend hereand myself if we retire for a few moments.'

"Taking up the cloak and hat from the chair, he put both on and walkedtowards the door.

"'Have I your permission, Sir, to hear what this man has to say?' Iinquired, turning to the King. 'I go or stay, as you may command, andam ready, if need be, as I have said, to prove my loyalty with my life.'

"There is no keener judge of character in all England than the King,and the look which, for a moment, he bent upon me was so searching, sopenetrating, so compelling, that I admit I found it hard to face.

"'You keep queer company!' he said with stern bluffness; and somethingthere was, in the way he looked and spoke, which,[Pg 331] even in that mosteventful moment of my life, recalled past scenes of English historyto my memory, and reminded me strangely of more than one of his greatancestors.

"'My company,' I replied gravely, 'is not of my choosing. What hashappened to me might have happened to your Majesty's most loyalsubject—might conceivably have happened, I venture humbly to suggest,to one who is subject to none in this kingdom. I am here, not by myown consent, but by compulsion. An hour ago I was suddenly taken bysurprise, and from behind, by superior numbers, and before I couldresist or summon assistance, was forcibly drugged, abducted, andcarried senseless to this place. Believe me, Sir, that I am as littledeserving of reproach, on the score of the company I keep, as I amunworthy to stand in the august presence in which I now find myself.'

"So saying, I dropped again upon one knee, and bent my head. When Ilooked up, I saw that the knitting of the brows over the eyes, whichhad been so sternly bent upon me, was relaxed. By a gesture he bade meto rise, and then, without speaking, nodded to the door, to indicatethat[Pg 332] I had his permission to withdraw. Walking backwards, I passedout, to find the Dumpling, who had preceded me, on the other side.

"After closing the door, locking it, and pocketing the key, he took myarm in a friendly way, and led me into another room, lit by a smokylamp.

"'My dear Rissler,' he began, 'I don't deny that you have disappointedme, but, after all, it is only what I might have expected, and myregard for you is so great that——'

"His hand was feeling, as he spoke, for the dagger which had been inthe inside pocket of his cloak. Missing it, he turned suddenly upon me,his eyes blazing with maniacal fury and fire; but before he could lifthand, I struck him squarely, with all my strength, between the eyes,and, as he reeled back, I snatched at the handle of the dagger, andstabbed him to the heart at one stroke."

"GOD SAVE THE KING!"

Kate gave a terrible cry as the words fell from my lips, and snatchingaway the hand which I had been holding, staggered, white and faint, tothe sofa.

"Don't turn from me, darling," I said, kneeling beside her. "No onewho fears God and honours his King, who loves his country, couldhave acted other than I did. The man meant well, meant nobly, Ibelieve, originally, and his passion and devotion to the cause of thepoor I shall remember with reverence to the end of my life. But hiswell-meaning had passed into mania, so that he had become, as you know,a relentless and wholesale murderer, whose very existence was a menaceto the nation. I struck because I was compelled, and in self-defence. Ihad no option, for his intention at the moment was to murder me. Had Ispared him, he would either have died at the hangman's hands, or, morehorrible still, have dragged out his remaining[Pg 334] years in a madhouse.You are a woman, darling; not a girl any longer—a brave woman, a truewoman, and must see that, terrible as it was and is, I should have beena traitor to my King and country had I failed to act as I did, for, madfor blood as the man was, he might—would, I believe, within the nextfew minutes—have murdered the King himself."

"It is horrible!" she said, shuddering. "Horrible! But I will be brave,dear, and I do see, horrible as it is, that you are right. Is he dead?"

"He is dead," I replied.

Again she buried her face in her hands and sank back sobbing. But soonthe sobs became less frequent, and at last she was composed enough tomotion to me with her hand to finish the story.

"And what happened then?" interposed Miss Clara.

"Then," I went on, "I took the keys out of the dead man's pocket, andarraying myself in the Napoleon cloak, the huge collar of which I drewup to my ears, and clapping the hat on my head, well down over myeyes, I made my way to the front door. The man in charge was still athis post,[Pg 335] and looked up for a moment on hearing me turn the key inthe lock, but seeing the hat and cloak of his leader, did not troublehimself to look again. Making a show of locking the door, I turned, andwith my head sunk on my chest, my legs straddled apart in imitation ofthe Dumpling, and my hand—the right—holding the dagger behind me, Iwalked slowly towards him. He slipped the paper he had been readinginto his pocket, and rose, as if to open the door for me, but, beforeshooting back the bolt, he turned, and raising his hand soldier-wise insalute, said:

"Shall I send word, sir, that——"

"He stopped short with a sudden gasp of surprise, realising, as hiseyes fell upon me, that something was wrong; but, before he could uttera word or raise a hand, my dagger was in his heart."

Again Kate reeled, as if about to faint.

"More blood on your hands! Another life taken! The first, perhaps,had to be, but this man had done no direct harm, this man——"

"Kate," I interrupted her sternly, "this, too, as you put it,'had to be.' The issues at stake were too tremendous to justify[Pg 336]me in running any risk. And this man was an English-speaking foreignmercenary, whom I, with my own eyes, saw deliberately murder twopolicemen and a soldier in cold blood and without mercy."

"And the King?" she gasped, white to the lips.

"The King," I said, "is safe. I stayed only to put the body out ofsight, and to cover up the traces of the tragedy, before going back toset him free. The rising is over. It is the King himself who has givenit its death-blow. When the contingent of rioters, who had succeededin passing the barriers, reached Buckingham Palace, the King declaredhis intention of going out himself to meet them. Notwithstanding theQueen's tears, the Prince's entreaties, his Ministers' prayers, herefused to be turned from his purpose.

"'I am not afraid of my people,' he said unconcernedly, 'and I do notthink my people will harm me.'

"Walking to a window on the ground floor, he threw it up, and standingupon a chair in sight of all, spoke to the crowd.

"'My friends!' he said. 'My people, whom I have loved, and who havenever[Pg 337] yet before failed in love to me, you have been misled by amadman and a murderer, who is now dead. The uproar began with him, andwith his death it will assuredly end. Your leaders, those who haveplanned and carried out this treason and this devilry, and those whohave shed blood, must answer to the law for what they have done, andmust answer, it may be, with their lives.

"'But for you, my people, who have been blinded, duped, and misledby the dead arch-traitor who called himself the Dumpling, to you, mypeople, if you now disperse and go to your homes, free pardon andforgiveness shall be extended. It is your King who says it, and yourKing's word is enough.

"'And now, listen. I am not afraid of my people, and I do not thinkthere is one sane man among my people who would harm me. See, I comeout to you of my own accord, unescorted, unattended, and unarmed.'

"Stepping upon the window-sill, he said, laughingly:

"'I am not so young or as light-footed as I used to be. Will one of youlend me a hand?'

[Pg 338]

"A hundred hands were extended, and then, hatless as he was, he leaptdown into the courtyard among his subjects, as much at home and with aslittle fear as if he were among a crowd of sightseers on a race-courseor at a review.

"At the words and at the action, there arose such a cheer as London hasnever heard before, and though some traitors there were, who murmuredamong themselves, and looked at him darkly, not one of them dared raisehand against the Sovereign, knowing that to do so would be the signalfor the people to tear the traitor limb from limb.

"The rebellion is over, Kate. The King himself, as I have said, gave itthe death-blow. Before I left the Palace, the people had thrown downtheir arms to a man, and all London is ringing on every hand with thecry 'God save the King!'"

"Thank God!" she said, "for the King's sake and the people's. But hush,Max! What is that shouting in the street? It is coming nearer. Pray Godthe rioting has not broken out again."

"I have no fear of that," I said. "But come, dear, let us see."

Together we walked to the window. The[Pg 339] shouting and cheering in thestreet were terrific, but this was no disloyal mob—these were norevolutionaries. They were cheering a gentleman who, unattended, andwithout escort, was riding slowly by in an open carriage.

"It is the King!" Kate gasped.

"Yes," I said. "It is the kingliest ruler, the bravest man, the truestgentleman in Christendom!"

And raising the window, she and I stepped out hand in hand upon thebalcony, to join in the jubilation and welcome that rose from athousand throats in a roar louder than the roar of the central seas.

"The King! God bless him!"

"The King! The King! The King!"

"God save the King!"

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73740 ***