The Pauper of Park Lane. Le Queux William
coat, and, hailing a cab, told the man to drive to Victoria, where he took the underground railway to Gloucester Road Station.
From there to the house of the ex-Minister was only a very short walk. The night was mild, bright, and starlight, for the haze of sundown which had threatened rain had been succeeded by a brilliant evening. Cromwell Road is always deserted at that hour before the cabs and carriages begin to return from restaurants and theatres, and as he strolled along, knowing that he was always welcome at the Doctor’s house to chat and smoke, his was the only footfall to be heard in the long open thoroughfare.
Ascending the steps beneath the wide portico, he pressed the visitors’ bell, but though he waited several minutes, there was no response. Again and again he rang, but the bell was apparently out of order, so he gave a sounding rat-tat with the knocker.
Then he listened intently; but to his surprise no one stirred.
Over the door was a bright light, as usual, revealing the number in great white numerals, and through the chinks of the Venetian blinds of the dining-room he could see that the electric lamps were on.
Again and again he rang and knocked. It was surely curious, he thought, that all the servants should be out, even though the Doctor might be absent. The failure to arouse anybody caused him both surprise and apprehension. Though the electric bell might be out of order, yet his loud knock must be heard even up to the garrets. London servants are often neglectful in the absence of their masters, and more especially if there is no mistress, yet it seemed hardly creditable that they would go out and leave the place unattended.
Seven or eight times he repeated his summons, standing upon the door-steps with his ears strained to catch the slightest sound.
Once he thought he heard distinctly the noise of stealthy footsteps in the hall, and he held his breath. They were repeated. He was quite certain that his ears had not deceived him, for in the street all was silent as the grave. He heard someone moving within as though creeping slowly from the door.
What could it mean? Were thieves within?
He examined the door to see if the lock had been tampered with, but, so far as he could discern, it was untouched. He was undecided how to act, though now positively certain that something unusual was in progress.
He glanced up and down the long road, with its rows of gas lamps, but no one was visible. The only sound was the far-distant rat-tat of the postman on his last round.
For the Doctor to be out of an evening was very unusual; and that stealthy footstep had alarmed him. If there were actually thieves, then they had probably entered by the area door. Max was by no means a coward. There was a mystery there – a mystery he intended to at once investigate.
Doctor Petrovitch was one of his dearest friends and he meant to act as a friend should act.
What puzzled him most of all was the absence of the servants. All of them were apparently highly trustworthy, yet the foreigner in London, he remembered, often engaged servants without sufficient inquiry into their past.
For a few moment he stood motionless, his ears strained, at the door.
The movement was repeated. Someone seemed to be leaving the dining-room, for he distinctly heard the light footfall.
Therefore, with scarce a sound, he crept down the steps to the pavement and descended the winding flight to the area door. With great caution he turned the handle, but alas! the knob went right round in his hand, the door remaining still fastened.
A light showed in the kitchen, but whether anyone was there he of course could not tell. Again he tried the door, but without avail. It was securely fastened, while, as far as he could ascertain, there were no marks of any forcible entry.
Should he rap at the door? Or would that further alarm the intruders? He had knocked many times at the front door, it was true, but they would no doubt wait until they believed he had gone. Or else they might escape by the rear of the premises.
What should he do?
He hesitated again, with bated breath.
Next instant, however, he heard upon the stone steps above him, leading from the pavement to the front door, the light tread of feet quickly descending. Someone, having watched him descend there, was leaving the house! And yet so noiselessly that at first Max believed himself mistaken.
In a second he had dashed up the area steps and stood upon the pavement. But already he realised the truth. The front door stood ajar, and the intruder was flying as fast as his feet could carry him in the direction of the Brompton Road.
Swiftly, without looking back, the man sped lightly along the pavement to the next corner, which he turned and was a moment later lost to view.
Max Barclay did not follow. He stood there like a man in a dream.
“What – in Heaven’s name – is the meaning of this?” as, held powerless, he stood staring in the direction the fugitive had taken.
His first impulse had been to follow, but next moment, as the escaping intruder had passed beneath a street lamp he recognised the figure unmistakably, both by the clothes and hat, as none other than his friend Charles Rolfe!
He fell back, staggered by the discovery.
For quite a brief space he stood unable to move. Then, seeing the door ajar, he ascended the steps and entered the house. The lights were switched on everywhere, but, on going in, something – what it was he could never describe – struck him as peculiar. Hardly had he crossed the threshold than he became instinctively aware that some mystery was there.
In a few seconds the amazing truth became apparent, for when he entered the dining-room, to the left of the hall, he started, and an involuntary exclamation of surprise escaped him. The place was empty, devoid of every stick of furniture!
From room to room he dashed, only to find that everything had been mysteriously removed. In the few brief hours or his absence Doctor Petrovitch had apparently fled, taking with him all his household effects.
He stood in the hall utterly dumbfounded.
Why had Rolfe been there? What had he been doing in the empty house?
The swift manner in which the removal had been effected increased the mystery, for he had not left the Doctor till five o’clock. Besides, he had no doubt dined with his daughter Maud and with Marion, and they would not leave until about eight o’clock.
Again, a removal of that magnitude, requiring at least two vans, after dark could not possibly be effected without attracting the notice of the constable on duty!
Perhaps the police really did know who carried out the sudden change of residence. Anyhow, the whole affair was a complete enigma which amazed and stupefied him.
Presently, when he had somewhat recovered from his surprise, he ascended the stairs, his footsteps now echoing strangely through the empty place, and there found that the drawing-room, and, in fact, all the other rooms, had been completely and quickly cleared. The carpets had in some cases been left, but in the hasty removal curtains had been torn down from the rings, leaving cornices and poles, and the grand piano remained, it being apparently too large and heavy for rapid transit.
He ascended, even to the servants’ rooms on the top floor, but found scarcely a vestige of furniture left.
In one back room, a small half-garret with a slightly eloping roof, he noticed a cupboard which curiosity led him to open, as he had opened other cupboards. As he did so, he saw a bundle upon the floor, as though it had been hastily thrown there.
As he pulled it forth it unrolled, and he then saw that it was a woman’s light grey tweed skirt and coat.
The latter felt damp to his touch, and as he held it up to examine it he saw that the breast and sleeve were both saturated with blood!
It dropped from his nerveless fingers. Some secret crime had been committed in that house, so suddenly and mysteriously divested of its furniture.
But what?
Max Barclay, pale as death, stood gazing around him, staggered, bewildered, horrified, scarce daring to breathe.
Why