A Queen's Error. Henry Curties
on duty up to eleven o'clock on the previous night, whether Mr. Saumarez—for that I discovered was the name he had entered in the hotel visitors' book—had left the hotel on the previous evening.
The porter unhesitatingly informed me that he had to go to a ball at
Bristol!
Really, when I left this man I began to wonder whether I had been dreaming, until I recollected the glass eye which was securely locked up in my dressing-case, such things not being produced in dreams and found under the pillow in the morning wrapped in an old telegram as this had been.
I went next to the chambermaid who presided over the corridor in which
Mr. Saumarez' room was.
Being a good-looking girl I gave her half-a-crown and chucked her under the chin.
"Look here, Maria," I said, "just tell me whether 340, Mr. Saumarez, was in or not last night. I'm rather curious to know and have got a bet on about it with a friend."
She looked at me knowingly and giggled.
"Why, out, sir, of course," she replied; "he came in at half-past ten this morning with his boots unblacked. We all know what that means."
This evidence to me appeared conclusive. I gave the chambermaid a parting chuck under the chin—no one being about—and dismissed her.
Then, it being a fine morning, I went out for a walk.
I went right over the hills by Sham Castle and across the Golf Links, being heartily sworn at—in the distance—by sundry retired officers for not getting out of the way. But I was trying to have a good think over Mr. Saumarez, his duplicate glass eyes, and the reason why he wanted the key of the old lady's safe.
I so tired myself out with walking and thinking, with no result, that when I got back and had lunched late all by myself in the big dining-room, I went into the smoking-room, which this time was quite empty, and fell asleep in front of the great fire.
My sleep was curiously broken and unrestful, and full of that undefined cold apprehension which sometimes attacks one without any apparent reason during an afternoon nap.
I awoke at last to hear the old Abbey clock striking five, and then I nearly jumped out of my seat, for I recollected my promise to the unknown old lady in Monmouth Street to visit her again that day at that very hour.
I hurried through the hall to the coat room, and, seizing my hat, rushed out and just caught a tram which was gliding past in the direction of the upper town where Monmouth Street stretched its length along the slope of the hill.
It was only three minutes past five when the gaily lighted tram deposited me at the end of my old lady's street, and I set off for Number 190, which was at the other extremity of the long, badly lighted thoroughfare, looking, with its interminable rows of oblong windows, like an odd corner of the eighteenth century which had been left behind in the march of time.
I found the house practically as I had left it; there was no fog that evening, and I had a better opportunity of observing its general appearance in the yellow flare of the old-fashioned gas lamp opposite.
The house on one side of it was to be let, with a large staring board announcing that fact fixed to the railings; the house on the other side was a dingy looking place with lace curtains shrouding the dining-room windows and a notice outside concerning "Apartments."
I drew out the latch-key, blew in it to cleanse it from any dust, then, with very little difficulty, opened the door and entered Number 190.
CHAPTER III
THE SECOND VISIT AND ITS RESULT
The first thing which caught my attention was the wax candle with its glass shade standing on the raised flap which did duty for a hall table.
I at once lit the candle from the box of matches by it, and then, when it had burned up a little, proceeded at once to the kitchen staircase. The old lady had given me the latch-key with such a free hand that I felt myself fully justified in walking in; in fact, I rather wanted to take her by surprise if possible.
Nevertheless I made a little noise going downstairs to give her knowledge of my approach, and it was then that I thought I heard a window open somewhere at the back of the house.
I walked towards the end of the passage, and there I saw the glow of the fire reflected through the open door of the handsome sitting-room in which I had sat with the old lady on the previous day. It played upon the opposite wall as I advanced with a great air of comfort.
"Ten to one," I said to myself, "that I find the old lady asleep over the fire."
The room I found in darkness except for the firelight. I could see little within it. I paused on the threshold and made a polite inquiry.
"May I come in?" I asked in a tone intended to be loud enough to wake the old lady.
No answer.
I advanced into the room with my candle and set it on the table, then I struck a match and lit two more of the candles in the sconces.
The room was empty!
This placed me rather in a dilemma. I had no further means of announcing my presence; I could only wait.
I sat down by the fire and began to look around.
Comfortable, even luxurious as the room was with its abundance of valuable knick-knacks and pictures, it had an eerie look about it. The eyes of the figures in the pictures seemed following me about.
I got up and lit two more of the candles in the sconces on the walls. Then I returned to my seat, made up the fire, and waited the course of events.
I waited thus quite a quarter of an hour, during which nothing occurred, and then I heard sounds which almost made me jump from my chair.
The first was a long, gasping breath, followed after an interval by a groan, a long wailing groan as of one in the deepest suffering.
I immediately rose from my chair, and caught a glimpse of my white face as I did so in the looking-glass over the mantelpiece.
I stood for some seconds on the hearthrug, and then the groan was repeated; it came from the direction of a heavy curtain which hung in one corner of the room, and which I had taken, on the previous day, to be the covering of a cabinet or a recess in the wall perhaps for some of the old lady's out-door clothing.
I tore it on one side now and found that it concealed a door. The knob turned in my hand and I entered the room beyond; it was in total darkness, and I at once returned to the sitting-room for candles.
I took two in my hands and advanced once again, with an effort, into the dark room.
The sight that met my gaze there almost caused me to drop them. It was a handsomely furnished bedroom, and in the farther corner was the bed. On it lay the old lady wrapped in a white quilted silk dressing-robe.
The whole of the breast of this garment was saturated with blood!
With the candles trembling in my hands I advanced to the side of the bed, and the poor soul's eyes looked up at me while she acknowledged my coming with a groan.
Looking down at her there could not be a doubt but that her throat had been cut!
I drew back from her horrified, and then I saw her lips moving; she was trying to speak.
I put my ear down close to her mouth and then I heard faintly but very distinctly two words—
"Safe—open."
I answered her at once.
"I will go for a doctor first, then I will return and open the safe."