The Great Temptation (Thriller Novel). Richard Marsh
in the English papers. Look at this." He held out a copy of the Daily Telegraph, open at the centre page. "See these scare lines." He read aloud. "Assassination of Russian Prefect of Police. Extraordinary Story." He looked at me. "That's who they took you for, the man who killed him. The Russian Prefect of Police has been murdered at St. Petersburg, in a public street. He was stabbed in the back with a long knife which was driven right through him. The assassin found it easier to leave it in than to take it out again. One of the Prefect's officers, who was standing at some little distance, actually saw the murder committed; but before he could reach the Prefect he was dead and the murderer was out of sight. If, as is possible because even in that most policed country in the world criminals do get away that particular murderer did escape, he may have made for London; in a certain quarter he may even have been expected."
"Do you mean to say that those fellows took me for a murderer?"
The man smiled I really did not see what there was to smile at: there was a quality in his smile which I found curious.
"The thing is conceivable."
"I really cannot agree with that. I cannot see how let the circumstances be what they may anyone is entitled to take me for a murderer."
"My dear Mr. Beckwith, perhaps I see better than you do. In all little affairs of this kind--"
"Little affair, you call it! The Chief of Police I suppose a Prefect is a Chief of Police is murdered in a public street, and you call it a little affair."
"I will speak of it as you like. I only wish to point out that in affairs of this kind there are apt to be wheels within wheels, plots within plots, mysterious complications which well, I will say, which make all things conceivable. Do you know it occurs to me, Mr. Beckwith, that you may be hungry."
The change of theme was sudden, but I was equal to the occasion.
"Considering," I told him, "that I have had nothing to eat since yesterday at breakfast you may take it for granted that I am."
He addressed the lady.
"Do you not think that we might be able to give this gentleman something to eat?"
She touched an electric bell. "I must apologise to Mr. Beckwith," she said, "for my want of consideration; I ought to have thought of it before."
A man-servant entered at least I took him for a servant: he was big and brawny, and wore a beard; he reminded me of those undesirable aliens, though I admit that he was cleaner, neater, better dressed than they were. She said something to him; he vanished, almost immediately returning with various articles upon a tray. He set these out upon the table. There was a cold chicken, bread, butter, fresh cut lettuce, a bottle of red wine. I did not need a second invitation to attack the food. While I ate they talked, asking me questions, sometimes laughing at my answers. The kind of interest they seemed to feel was beyond my comprehension. They did not seem to be the kind of people who would be mixed up even in what they might call a "political" murder. I gave frank expression to my feelings. I said to the man:
"Do you know you'll excuse my saying so but I'm beginning to wonder if you had anything to do with the awful thing which happened to this man what's his name?"
"The name of the Prefect of Police was Stepan Korsunsky."
"You talk as if you knew all about it."
The pair exchanged glances; then the man said:
"Mr. Beckwith, you are a simple-minded Englishman."
"And what are you--you're not Russian?"
"No; as it happens, I'm American. I was born in a small township in Wisconsin, which, as you may or may not be aware it is funny how much even educated Englishmen don't know about America is a state in the Upper Lake region of the greatest country on God's earth. Now and then I go to visit the place where I was raised but not too often. I am fond of motion, Mr. Hugh Beckwith, so I keep moving; there are few places on the surface of this small, round globe which I haven't moved over. I've interests business interests in quite a lot of them; and that's how I've come to have a kind of feeling in what happened to Stepan Korsunsky. I've business interests in St. Petersburg of rather a peculiar kind."
He pronounced those last words in a way I could not but feel he meant that I should notice. I did not quite like to ask what he meant by "a peculiar kind"; but, as I had made quite an inroad into that chicken, I was content to sit and stare and wonder. And as I sat I had my hands in the pocket of that nonsensical coat. Without thinking what I was doing I returned to what had occupied me in the cellar. In the centre of one side of the lining of the right-hand pocket was still that rounded something. I thrust my fingers through the place where I had torn away the stitches inside the lining. By some queer accident the hidden something wormed itself through what I felt to be a threadbare spot into my fingers. I closed them on it just in time to save it from dropping to the bottom of the coat. Gingerly I drew it out and looked at it.
I take it that there was something in my demeanour which struck them as peculiar. When they saw me staring intently at something which I held in my hand they both moved towards me as if to learn what I was staring at.
"What have you there?" asked the man. "Something worth looking at?"
"I don't know what it is," I answered; "I'm wondering. It looks to me as if it might be some sort of pill."
"Pill?" The man seemed startled; he came closer, bent down to see what I had, and almost at the same instant took me with his right hand by the throat and shouted: "You rogue! Hand that over."
I was taken by surprise when, so soon as I had knocked at the door, that huge fellow dragged me into that mysterious house; but I think I was even more surprised when that man accorded me such treatment. He had been so courteous, so pleasant, a man of peace, evidently the best type of American gentleman: that he should suddenly start strangling me was grotesquely unexpected. However, his onslaught only lasted a second. Snatching from my open palm what looked to me like a pill, he drew back, examining it closely with eager eyes.
"What is it?" the girl asked. "What have you there?"
"It's one of them." He did not speak loudly, but with a voice which seemed to be shaking with excitement.
"One of them?" She echoed not only his words but his manner of uttering them. She seemed all at once to be quivering.
"As I live and breathe, it's one of them! Of all the wonderful things! And I had given up hope."
"How did it get here?"
"How can I tell you! As if I knew! It has dropped from the skies."
"Where did it come from?"
"From--from--"He glared at me. "Mr. Hugh Beckwith, will you be so good as to tell me where it came from. None of your lies, none of your nonsense about the dried fruit trade! I felt, somehow, that you were too simple to be real. Out with it, man! You'll find that I, also, can be dangerous. Where did this come from? Tell me the truth if you want to keep your soul and body together."
I already had reason to know that by some mischance I had dropped into a region where strange things happened. I ought to have been prepared for anything; yet I was wholly unprepared for the sudden, startling, and quick change in his manner and bearing. As I looked at him I knew without his telling me that he, also, could be dangerous; that it would need very very little to induce him to treat me even worse than the others had done. What I had done to cause this amazing alteration in his demeanour was beyond my comprehension. I tried to tell him so.
"What I have done to induce you to take me by the throat, and to speak to me as if I were a dog--"
He cut me short.
"Never mind what you've done! Where did this come from?"
He held what looked like a pill in his finger and thumb.
"From the lining of this pocket."
"What do you mean?"
"What I say. I felt last night that there was something there, and I've been picking at it ever since with my fingers, trying to get it out. I've just