The Woman with One Hand, and Mr. Ely's Engagement. Marsh Richard

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СКАЧАТЬ The individual who had taken me to the hotel was the only person in the office. It seemed, from his own statement, that he was Mr. Cleaver, the senior partner. When he learned why I had come, he laughed.

      "Do with them? Why, spend them, or throw them into the river, or give them to me."

      I hesitated. The truth is, the situation threatened to become too complicated. I had an uneasy consciousness that the something which James Southam was to hear of might be something to his exceeding disadvantage. I had heard enough of that sort of thing of late. I did not wish to stand in somebody else's shoes for the sake of hearing more. I resolved to have some sort of understanding with Mr. Cleaver.

      "Who is Duncan Rothwell? Is he the client for whom you are acting?"

      Mr. Cleaver was occupying himself in tearing a piece of paper into tiny shreds with his fingers. He replied to my question with another. "Why do you ask?"

      "Because the signature attached to the letter which brought the bank-notes is Duncan Rothwell; and, as to my knowledge, I know no Duncan Rothwell, I should like to know who Duncan Rothwell is."

      "Do you mind my looking at the letter?"

      I did not mind. I let him look at it. He read it through.

      "If you will take a hint from me, Mr. Southam, I think I should advise you to restrain your not unnatural curiosity, and wait for things to take their course."

      "But, unless I am careful, I may find myself in a false position. I may not be the required James Southam. In fact, I don't mind telling you that I don't believe I am. I am acquainted with no Duncan Rothwell. His whole letter is double Dutch to me. There may be dozens of James Southams about."

      "Recent inhabitants of Dulborough? I thought Dulborough was a mere hamlet."

      "So it is."

      "How long did you live there?"

      "I was born and bred in the place."

      "Have you any relatives of your own name?"

      "I have not a relative in the world."

      "If, as you say, you were born and bred in such a place as Dulborough, I presume that you had some knowledge of the inhabitants?'

      "I believe I knew something of every creature in all the country side."

      "And did you know anything of another James Southam?"

      "That is the queer part of it. So far as I know, I was the only Southam thereabouts."

      Mr. Cleaver laughed.

      "According to your own statement, it appears that, to put it mildly, there is at least a possibility of your being the James Southam we have been instructed to find. Frankly, Mr. Southam, we know very little more about the matter than you do yourself. We have simply been instructed to discover the present address of James Southam, at one time of Dulborough, and we have done so."

      "Is that the case?"

      From their manner the day before I had suspected that Messrs. Cleaver and Caxton might be merely, as it were, lay figures, and that it was somebody else who held the strings.

      "There is something else I should like to mention: I wish to change my hotel." Mr. Cleaver stared.

      "Change your hotel? Why? Isn't it good enough?"

      "It is not that exactly. It is the domestic arrangements which are not to my taste."

      "The domestic arrangements? What do you mean?"

      I did not know how to explain; or rather, I did not know how much to explain.

      "What do you know of Mrs. Barnes's husband?"

      "Really, Mr. Southam, your bump of curiosity appears to be fully developed. What has Mrs. Barnes's husband to do with you-or with me? If you don't like your present quarters you are at perfect liberty to change them; – only in that case you must become responsible for your own expenditure." I turned to go. "One moment. If you intend to change your quarters, perhaps, under the circumstances, you will be so good as to let us know where you propose to go."

      "I will let you know if I do go. At any rate, until to-morrow I intend to remain where I am."

      Whether it would have been better for me, considering the tragedy which followed, never to have returned to Mrs. Barnes's house at all, is more than I can say. That particular tragedy might not have happened, but, looking at the matter from a purely personal and selfish point of view, whether that would have been better for me, or worse, is another question altogether.

      That night I went to a music-hall, changing one of Mr. Rothwell's notes to enable me to do so. Afterwards I supped at a restaurant in the Strand. Then I returned to the hotel to bed. I was more than half afraid of being waylaid by Mrs. Barnes. But, to my relief, it was the maidservant who let me in. I saw and heard nothing of the landlady. I spent the night in peace.

      A telegram was brought me the next morning after breakfast. It was short and to the point-

      "Shall be with you at twelve-thirty. – Duncan Rothwell."

      As I perceived that it had been despatched from Derby station, I concluded that Mr. Rothwell had telegraphed while in the very act of journeying to town. Half-past twelve arrived, and no one, and nothing came for me. About a quarter to one I went into the hall with some vague idea of seeing if some likely looking person might be coming down the street. The hall was really nothing but a narrow passage. The front door was open. With his feet just inside the open doorway was a man lying face downwards on the floor. My first impulse was to beat a retreat, because I at once jumped to the conclusion that Mr. Barnes, or Mr. James Southam, or whatever the landlady's mysterious husband's name might be, had returned to the bosom of his family, not only unpleasantly inclined, but drunk. A brief inspection from the other end of the passage, however, made it sufficiently clear that, whoever the recumbent individual was, it was not the gentleman who had first waited on and then assaulted me.

      I could see that he was, in every way, a larger man. His silk hat had fallen sufficiently off his head to enable one to perceive that he was bald. As I stood and watched him, I began to be conscious of a curiously unpleasant feeling. He lay so still; and in such an uncomfortable posture. He was a big, fat man; it struck me that he must weigh some seventeen or eighteen stone. He had fallen flat upon his stomach; his face was so close to the floor that he must have found it difficult to breathe. His right arm was bent under him, in a way which disagreeably suggested a broken limb. The man must surely be something more than drunk. He must, I told myself, have fallen in a fit.

      With an indefinable feeling of repugnance, I advanced to give him aid. I bent over him. I laid my hand upon his shoulder; I withdrew it with a start. The man's coat was wet. I glanced at my own palm; it was covered with some red pigment. Thoroughly aroused I sprang to my feet.

      "Help! Mrs. Barnes!" I cried.

      Mrs. Barnes and the maidservant came running up together.

      "Mrs. Barnes," I said, still staring at the patch of red upon my hand, "I believe there has been murder done."

      "Murder! Oh, my God! Do you think he did it?"

      I looked at her. I knew what she meant, but I did not answer her, "You had better send for the police, and for a medical man."

      It was the servant who retained СКАЧАТЬ