British Mystery Classics - Arthur Morrison Edition (Illustrated). Morrison Arthur

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      “I assented, wondering what this proposal could be. Perhaps this eccentric old gentleman was a good fellow, after all, anxious to do me a good turn, and his awkwardness was nothing but a natural delicacy in breaking the ice. I was not so flush of good friends as to be willing to lose one. He might be desirous of putting business in my way.

      “I went, and was received with cordiality that even then seemed a little over-effusive. We sat and talked of one thing and another for a long while, and I began to wonder when Mr. Foggatt was coming to the point that most interested me. Several times he invited me to drink and smoke, but long usage to athletic training has given me a distaste for both practices, and I declined. At last he began to talk about myself. He was afraid that my professional prospects in this country were not great, but he had heard that in some of the colonies—South Africa, for example—young lawyers had brilliant opportunities.

      “‘If you’d like to go there,’ he said, ‘I’ve no doubt, with a little capital, a clever man like you could get a grand practice together very soon. Or you might buy a share in some good established practice. I should be glad to let you have £500, or even a little more, if that wouldn’t satisfy you, and—’

      “I stood aghast. Why should this man, almost a stranger, offer me £500, or even more, ‘if that wouldn’t satisfy’ me? What claim had I on him? It was very generous of him, of course, but out of the question. I was, at least, a gentleman, and had a gentleman’s self-respect. Meanwhile, he had gone maundering on, in a halting sort of way, and presently let slip a sentence that struck me like a blow between the eyes.

      “‘I shouldn’t like you to bear ill-will because of what has happened in the past,’ he said. ‘Your late—your late lamented mother—I’m afraid—she had unworthy suspicions—I’m sure—it was best for all parties—your father always appreciated—’

      “I set back my chair and stood erect before him. This groveling wretch, forcing the words through his dry lips, was the thief who had made another of my father and had brought to miserable ends the lives of both my parents! Everything was clear. The creature went in fear of me, never imagining that I did not know him, and sought to buy me off—to buy me from the remembrance of my dead mother’s broken heart for £500—£500 that he had made my father steal for him! I said not a word. But the memory of all my mother’s bitter years, and a savage sense of this crowning insult to myself, took a hold upon me, and I was a tiger. Even then I verily believe that one word of repentance, one tone of honest remorse, would have saved him. But he drooped his eyes, snuffled excuses, and stammered of ‘unworthy suspicions’ and ‘no ill-will.’ I let him stammer. Presently he looked up and saw my face; and fell back in his chair, sick with terror. I snatched the pistol from the mantel-piece, and, thrusting it in his face, shot him where he sat.

      “My subsequent coolness and quietness surprise me now. I took my hat and stepped toward the door. But there were voices on the stairs. The door was locked on the inside, and I left it so. I went back and quietly opened a window. Below was a clear drop into darkness, and above was plain wall; but away to one side, where the slope of the gable sprang from the roof, an iron gutter ended, supported by a strong bracket. It was the only way. I got upon the sill and carefully shut the window behind me, for people were already knocking at the lobby door. From the end of the sill, holding on by the reveal of the window with one hand, leaning and stretching my utmost, I caught the gutter, swung myself clear, and scrambled on the roof. I climbed over many roofs before I found, in an adjoining street, a ladder lashed perpendicularly against the front of a house in course of repair. This, to me, was an easy opportunity of descent, notwithstanding the boards fastened over the face of the ladder, and I availed myself of it.

      “I have taken some time and trouble in order that you (so far as I am aware the only human being beside myself who knows me to be the author of Foggatt’s death) shall have at least the means of appraising my crime at its just value of culpability. How much you already know of what I have told you I can not guess. I am wrong, hardened, and flagitious, I make no doubt, but I speak of the facts as they are. You see the thing, of course, from your own point of view—I from mine. And I remember my mother!

      “Trusting that you will forgive the odd freak of a man—a criminal, let us say—who makes a confidant of the man set to hunt him down, I beg leave to be, sir, your obedient servant,

      “Sidney Mason.”

      I read the singular document through and handed it back to Hewitt.

      “How does it strike you?” Hewitt asked.

      “Mason would seem to be a man of very marked character,” I said. “Certainly no fool. And, if his tale is true, Foggatt is no great loss to the world.”

      “Just so—if the tale is true. Personally I am disposed to believe it is.”

      “Where was the letter posted?”

      “It wasn’t posted. It was handed in with the others from the front-door letter-box this morning in an unstamped envelope. He must have dropped it in himself during the night. Paper,” Hewitt proceeded, holding it up to the light, “Turkey mill, ruled foolscap. Envelope, blue, official shape, Pirie’s watermark. Both quite ordinary and no special marks.”

      “Where do you suppose he’s gone?”

      “Impossible СКАЧАТЬ