Devlin the Barber
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"I shall follow you, and to the first policeman I meet I shall say, 'Arrest that person. He is implicated in the murder of Lizzie Melladew.'"
Devlin cast upon me a look of admiration. "That would be awkward," he said.
"Decidedly awkward-for you."
"You would be asked to furnish evidence."
"Direct evidence it would be, at present, out of my power to supply," I said; I was on my mettle; my mental forces were never clearer, were never more resolutely set upon one object; "but there is such a thing as circumstantial evidence. Mr. Lemon and his wife should come forward, and relate all that they know concerning you. You and Mr. Lemon are carrying on a business somewhere; the place should be searched; it should be made food for the multitude who are ever on the hunt for the sensational. Your desk on the table here contains writings of yours; they may throw light upon the investigation. So we should go on, step by step, independent of your assistance, until we get the murderer-who may or may not be an accomplice of yours-into the clutches of the law."
Towards the end of this speech I had risen and approached the window, which faced the square. Mechanically lifting the blind, I looked out, and saw what arrested my attention. By the railings on the opposite side, with his eyes raised to the window, was the figure of a man. He was standing quite motionless, and, the night being fine, with a panoply of stars in the sky, I presently recognised the figure to be that of George Carton, poor Lizzie Melladew's distracted lover. At some little distance from him was the figure of another man, whose movements were distinguished by restlessness, and in him I recognised Carton's guardian, Mr. Kenneth Dowsett.
"Looking for a policeman?" inquired Devlin, with a touch of amusement in his voice.
"No," I replied, "but I am pleased to discover that I am not alone, that I have friends outside ready to assist me the moment I call upon them."
Devlin rose, and joined me at the window.
"Is your sight very keen?" he asked.
"Keen enough to recognise friends," I said.
"Mine is wonderful," said Devlin, "quite catlike; another of my abnormal qualities. I can plainly distinguish the features of the two men upon whom we are gazing. One is young. Who is he?"
"His name," I replied, believing that entire frankness would be more likely to win Devlin to my side, "is George Carton."
"I recognise him; he was in your house yesterday morning. He seems distressed. There is a troubled look in his face."
"He was the murdered girl's lover."
"Ah! And the other, the elder man, casting anxious glances upon the younger-who may he be?"
"His name is Mr. Kenneth Dowsett. He is young Carton's guardian."
"Thank you," said Devlin, returning to his seat at the table. I dropped the blind, and resumed my seat opposite to him, and then I observed a singular smile upon his face, to which I could attach no meaning.
"I presented," he said, "a certain contingency to you, the contingency of my leaving this house, and you have been delightfully explicit as to the course you would pursue. But, my dear sir, crediting myself with a species of occult power, which you appear ready to grant to me, might it not be in my power to vanish, to disappear from your sight the moment the policeman you would summons attempted to lay hands upon me?"
"I must chance that," I said.
"Good. Nothing of the sort will occur, I promise. I cannot carry on my pursuit as a Shadow. The idea of leaving the house did occur to me; I banish it. Well, then, suppose I remain here; suppose I put an end to this discussion; suppose I go to bed. To all your vapourings, suppose I say, 'Go to the devil!' Why on earth do you stare at me so? It is a common saying, and the awful consequences of such a journey are seldom thought of. I repeat, I say to you, 'Go to the devil!' What, then?"
"I still could summon a policeman," I said; "but even if I postponed that step or you managed to escape from me, I have a talent which, now that it occurs to me, I shall immediately press into my service."
"Enlighten me."
I took from my pocket some letters, and tore from them three blank leaves, upon which I set to work with pencil. My task occupied me ten minutes and more, during which time Devlin, sitting back in his chair, watched me with an expression of intense amusement in his face. When I had finished I handed him one of the blank leaves.
"My portrait!" he exclaimed. "I am an artist myself, as you have seen in Mrs. Lemon's parlour. This picture is the very image of me!"
"There is no mistaking it," I said complacently. "It will insure recognition."
"In what way do you propose to turn it to advantage, in the event of my being contumacious?"
"You have doubtless," I said, "noted the changes that have taken place in the life of civilised cities?"
"Excellent," he said. "My dear sir, you compel my admiration; you are altogether so different a person from the simpleton who lies shaking in his bed on the floor below. You have brain power. My worthy landlord and partner would have as well fulfilled his destiny had he been a mouse. The changes that have taken place! Ah, what changes have I not seen, say, in the course of the last thousand years!" And here he laughed loud and long. "But proceed, my dear sir, proceed. How do these changes affect me in the matter we are now considering?"
"There was a time-"
"Really, like the beginning of a fairy story," he interposed.
"When public opinion was of small weight, whereas now it is the most important factor in social affairs."
"Lucidly put. I listen to you with interest."
"The penny newspaper," I observed sagely, "is a mighty engine."
"You speak with the wisdom of a platitudinarian."
"It enlists itself in the cause of justice, and frequently plays, to a serviceable end, the part of a detective. You may remember the case of Leroy."
"A poor bungler, a very poor bungler. A small mind, my dear sir, eaten up by self-conceit of the lowest and meanest quality."
"For a long time Leroy evaded justice, but at length he was arrested. A popular newspaper published in its columns a portrait of the wretch-"
"I see," said Devlin, "and you would publish my portrait in the newspapers?"
"In every paper that would give it admittance; and few would refuse. Beneath it should be words to the effect that it was the portrait of a man who knew, before its committal, that the murder of the poor girl Lizzie Melladew was planned, and who must, therefore, be implicated in it. The portrait would lead to your arrest, and then Mr. and Mrs. Lemon would come forward with certain facts. Mr. Devlin, I would make London too hot to hold you."
"An expressive phrase. Your plan is more than ordinarily clever; it is ingenious. And London," said Devlin thoughtfully, "is such a place to work in, such a place to live in, such a place to observe in! To be banished from it would be a great misfortune. What other city in the world is so full of devilment and crime; what other city in the world is so full of revelations; what other city in the world is so full of opportunities, so full of contrasts, so full of hypocrisy and frivolity, so full of cold-blooded villainy? The gutters, with their ripening harvests of vice for gaol find gallows; the perfumed gardens, the fevered courts; the river, with its burden of jewels and beauty, with its burden of woe and despair; the bridges, with their nightly load of hunger, sin, and shame; the mansions, with their music, and false smiles, and aching hearts; the garrets, with their dim lights flickering; the bells, with their solemn warning; the busy streets, with their scheming life; the smug faces, the pinched bellies, the satins, the rags, the social treacheries, the suicides, the secret crimes, the rotting souls! My dear sir, the prospect of your making such a field too hot to hold even such a poor tatter-demalion as myself overwhelms me. What is the alternative?"
"That you pledge yourself by all that is holy and sacred to give me your fullest assistance towards the discovery of Lizzie Melladew's murderer."
CHAPTER XXI
DEVLIN AND I MAKE A COMPACT"A sacred and holy pledge," said Devlin, "from me? Is it possible that you ask me to bind myself to you by a pledge that you deem holy and sacred?"
"I know of no other way to secure your assistance," I said, feeling the weight of the sneer.
"If you did, you would adopt it?"
"Assuredly."
"So that, after all, you are to a certain extent in my power."
"As you to a certain extent are in mine."
"A fair retort. Before I point out to you how illogical and inconsistent you are, let me thank you for having converted what promised to be a dull evening into a veritable entertainment. It is a real cause for gratitude in such a house as Lemon's, of whom I have already spoken disparagingly, but of whom I cannot speak disparagingly enough. My dear sir, that person is devoid of colour, his moral and physical qualities are feeble, his intellect may be said to be washed out. It is the bold, the daring, that recommends itself to me, although I admit that there are curious studies to be found among the meanest of mortals. Now, my dear sir, for your inconsistency and your lack of the logical quality. My worthy landlady has conveyed to you an impression of me which, to describe it truthfully, may be designated unearthly. How much farther it goes I will not inquire. Her small capacity has instilled into what, as a compliment, I will call her mind, a belief that I am not exactly human-in point of fact, that if I am not the Evil One himself, I am at least one of his satellites. Common people are inclined to such extravagances. They believe in apparitions, vampires, and supernatural signs, or, to speak more correctly, in signs which they believe to be supernatural. The most ordinary coincidences-and think, my dear sir, that there are myriads of circumstances, of more or less importance, occurring every twenty-four hours in this motley world, and that it is a mathematical certainty that a certain proportion of these myriads should be coeval and should bear some relation to each other-the most ordinary coincidences, I repeat, are outrageously magnified by their imaginations when, say, sickness or death is concerned. A woman wakes up in the night, and in the darkness hears a ticking-tick, tick, tick! She rises in the morning, and hears that her mother-in-law has died during the night. 'Bless my soul!' she exclaims. 'I knew it, I knew it! Last night I woke up all of a tremble'-(which, she did not, but that is a detail) – 'and heard the death-tick!' The story, being told to the neighbours, invests this woman, who is proud of having received a supernatural warning, with supreme importance. She becomes for a time a social star. She relates the story again and again, and each time adds something which her imagination supplies, until, in the end, it is settled that her mother-in-law died at the precise moment she woke up; that she saw the ghost of that person at her bedside, very ghastly and sulphury, in the moonlight-(it is always moonlight on these occasions) – that the ghost whispered in sepulchral tones, 'I am dying, good-bye;' that there was a long wail; and that then she jumped out of bed and screamed, 'My mother-in-law is dead!' This is the story after it has grown. What are the facts? The woman has eaten a heavy supper, and she sleeps not so well as usual; she wakes up in the middle of the night. In the kitchen a mouse creeps on to the dresser, after some crumbs of bread and cheese which are in a plate. The ever-watchful cat-I love cats, especially good mousers-jumps upon the dresser, with the intention of making a meal of the mouse. On the dresser, then, at this precise moment, are the plate containing the crumbs of bread and cheese, the mouse, and the cat. There are other things there, of course, but there is only one other thing connected with the story, and that is a jug half-full of water. The cat, jumping after the mouse, overturns this jug, and the water flows till it reaches the edge of the dresser, whence it drips, drips, drips, upon the floor. This is the tick, tick, tick which the woman up-stairs hears-the death-tick of her mother-in-law! Her mother-in-law is eighty-seven years of age, and has been ill for months; her death is daily expected. She dies on this night, and the story is complete. A dying old woman, eighty-seven years of age, her daughter-in-law who has eaten too much supper, a plate of crumbs, a jug with water in it, a cat, and a mouse. Of these simple materials is a message from the unseen world created, which enthrals the entire neighbourhood. Analyse the miracles handed down from ancient times, some of which are woven into the religious beliefs of the people, and you will find that they are composed of parts as common and vulgar."
I made no attempt to interrupt Devlin in his narration of this commonplace story. He had, when he chose to exercise it, a singularly fascinating manner, and his voice was melodious, and when he paused I felt as if I had been listening to an attractive romance. While he spoke, his fingers were playing with a penholder and a pencil which were on the table; the penholder was long, the pencil was short, and I observed that he had placed one upon the other in the form of a cross.
"I am dull, perhaps," I said, "but I do not see how your story proves me to be illogical and inconsistent."
"I related it," replied Devlin, looking at the cross, "simply to show how willing people are to believe in the supernatural. My worthy landlady believes that I am a supernatural being; her husband believes it; you are inclined to lend a ready ear to it. And yet you tell me that you will be satisfied with a sacred and holy pledge from me, knowing, if you are at all correct in your estimate of me, that such a pledge is of as much weight and value as a soap bubble. How easy for me to give you this pledge! And all the while I may be a direct accessory in the tragedy you have resolved to unriddle."
"I thank you for reminding me," I said. "You shall swear to me that you have had no hand in this most horrible and dastardly murder."
"More inconsistency, more lack of logical perception," he said, and the magnetism in his eyes compelled me to fix my gaze upon the cross on the table. "You ask me to swear, and you will be content with my oath. I render you my obligations for your faith in my veracity. How shall I swear? How shall I deliver myself of the sacred and holy pledge? There are so many forms, so many symbols, of pledging one's mortal heart and immortal soul. The civilised Jew, when he is married to his beloved under the canopy, grinds a wine glass to dust with the heel of his boot, and the guests and relatives, especially the relatives of the bride, lift up their voices in joyful praise, with the conscious self-delusion that this sacred rite insures the faithfulness of the bridegroom to the woman he has wedded. Some burn wax candles-very bad wax often-for the release of souls from purgatory. The Chinaman, called upon for his oath, blows out a candle, twists the neck of a terrified cock, or smashes a saucer. The Christian kisses the New Testament; the Jew kisses the Old. The Christian swears with his hat off; the Jew with his hat on. I could multiply anomalies, all opposed to each other. Which kind of obligation would you prefer from me? A cock or a hen? Produce the sacred symbol, and I am ready. Shall my head be covered or uncovered? As you please. Ah, how strange! With this pencil and penholder my fingers have insensibly formed a cross. Shall I swear upon that, and will it content you? Take your choice, my dear sir, take your choice. Call me Jew, Christian, Pagan, Chinaman-which you please. I am willing to oblige you. Or shall we be sensible. Will you take my simple word for it?"
"I will," I said; "but I must have a hostage."
"Anything, anything, my dear sir. Give it a name."
"Your desk," I said, "which not unlikely contains private writings and confessions."
"It does," he replied, tapping on the desk with his knuckles. "You little dream of the treasures, the strange secrets, herein contained. You would have this as a hostage?"
"I would."
"It shall be yours, on the understanding that if I claim it from you within three months after the mystery of the murder of Lizzie Melladew is cleared up, you will deliver it to me again intact, with its contents unread."
"I promise faithfully," I said.
"I must trouble you," he said; and he suddenly placed his hand upon my forehead, and stood over me. "Yes," he said, resuming his seat, "the promise is faithfully made. You will keep it."
He locked the desk, and pushed it across the table to me, putting the key in his pocket.
"And now, your word of truth and honour," I said.
"Give me your hand. On my truth and honour I pledge myself to you. Moreover, if it will ease your mind of an absurd suspicion, I declare, on my truth and honour, that I have had nothing whatever to do with this murder."
His words carried conviction with them.
"But you will assist me in my search?" I said.
"To the extent of my power. Understand, however, that I do not undertake that your search shall be successful. It does not depend upon me; accident will probably play its part in the matter. There is a clause, moreover, in our agreement to which I require your adhesion. It is, that during your search you will do nothing to fasten publicity upon me, and that, in the event of your succeeding, I shall not be dragged into the case."
"Unless you are required as a witness," I said.
"I shall not be required. I have no evidence to offer which a court of law would accept."
"Who is to be the judge of that?"
"You yourself."
"I agree. You must not regard me as a spy upon your movements when I tell you I shall sleep in this house to-night."
"Not at all. That you are a man of mettle-a man who can form a resolution and carry it out, never mind at what inconvenience to yourself-makes your company agreeable to me. I like you; I accept you as my comrade, for a brief space, in lieu of that miserable groveller Lemon, who has no more strength of nerve than a jelly-fish. Sleep in the house, and welcome. Sleep in this room."
"Where?" I asked, looking around for the accommodation.
"A shake-down on the floor. Our mutual good friend Mrs. Lemon shall bring up a mattress, a pillow, a sheet, and a pair of blankets, and you shall lie snug and warm. I do not offer you my own bed, for I know that, having the instincts of a gentleman, you would not accept it, but I offer you the hospitality of my poor apartment. We will sup together, we will sleep together, in the morning we will breakfast together, and we will go out to business together, you taking the position of poor Lemon, whom, from this moment, I cast off for ever. What say you?"
I debated with myself. It was important that I should not lose sight of Devlin; left to my own resources, I should not know how to proceed; I depended entirely upon him to supply me with a clue. But what could be his reason for proposing that we should go out to business together? Of what use could I be in a barber's shop, and how would my presence there assist me? As, however, he appeared to be dealing frankly and honestly, my best course perhaps would be to do the same. Therefore I put the questions which perplexed me in plain language.
"My dear sir," he replied, "in my place of business, and in no other place, shall we be able to find a starting-point. Do not entail upon me the necessity of saying 'upon my truth and honour' to everything I advance. Have confidence in me, and you will be a thousand pounds the richer, probably two, if the gentleman who made you the offer keeps his word."
I hesitated no longer. I would act frankly and boldly, and for the next twenty-four hours at least would be guided by him.
"I accept your hospitality," I said, "and will do as you wish."
"Good," he said, rubbing his hands; "we may regard the campaign as opened. Woe to the murderer! Justice shall overtake him; he shall hang!" He uttered these words in a tone of malignant satisfaction, and as though the prospect of any man being hanged was thoroughly agreeable to him. "I will prove to you," he continued, "how completely you can trust me. You came here to-day with the intention of returning home and sleeping there. Your absence will alarm your wife. You must write to her."
He placed notepaper and envelopes before me, and took from the mantelshelf a penny stone bottle of ink, then pointed to the pen which formed part of the cross upon the table.
I wrote a line to my wife, informing her that events of great importance had occurred in relation to the murder of Lizzie Melladew, and that, for the purpose of following up the threads of a possible discovery, I intended to sleep out to-night; I desired her in my letter to go and see Mr. Portland and tell him that I was engaged in the task he had intrusted to me, and believed I should soon be in possession of a clue. "Have no anxiety for me," I said; "I am quite safe, and no harm will befall me. The prospect of unravelling this dreadful mystery fills me with joy." She would know what I meant by this; the murderer discovered, we should be comparatively rich. I fastened and addressed my letter.
"It should reach her hands to-night," said Devlin. "How will you send it?"
I stepped to the window, and, looking out, distinguished the figures of George Carton and Mr. Kenneth Dowsett, Mr. Dowsett seemed to be endeavouring, unavailingly, to persuade his ward to come away with him. I could employ no better messenger than George Carton; he should take my letter to my wife. Returning to the centre of the room, my eyes fell upon Devlin's desk. Devlin smiled and nodded; he knew what was passing in my mind.
"I shall send my letter," I said, "by the hands of George Carton, who is still in the square, and I shall send your desk with it."
"Do so," said Devlin.
I opened the envelope, and tearing it into very small pieces flung them out of window. Devlin smiled again.
"So that I should not discover your address," he said.
"That is it," I replied.
"It is likely," he said, "to be not very far from Mr. Melladew, because you and he are friends."
I added a few words to my letter, desiring my wife to put the desk in a place of safety; and then, addressing another envelope, I went down-stairs, bearing both desk and letter.
"I shall be here when you come back," said Devlin. "Even were I protean, I shall not change my shape. My word is given."
On my way to the street-door I encountered Fanny Lemon.
"Well, sir?" she asked anxiously.
"I will speak to you presently," I said, and, opening the street-door, crossed the road to where George Carton and his guardian were standing.
CHAPTER XXII
I SEND DEVLIN'S DESK TO MY WIFE, AND SMOKE A FRAGRANT CIGAR"This foolish, headstrong lad will be the death of me," said Mr. Dowsett in a fretful tone, "and of himself as well."
"I am neither foolish nor headstrong," retorted the unhappy young man. "I told you he was in there still, and you told me he had left the house."
"I said it for your good," said Mr. Dowsett, "but you will not be ruled."
"No, I will not!" exclaimed George Carton violently; and then said remorsefully, "I beg you to forgive me for speaking so wildly; it is the height of ingratitude after all your goodness to me. But do you not see-for God's sake, do you not see-that you are making things worse instead of better for me by opposing me as you are doing? I will have my way! I will, whether I am right or wrong!"
"My poor boy," said Mr. Dowsett, addressing me, "has got it into his foolish head that you can be of some assistance to him. In heaven's name, how can you be?"
"Mr. Dowsett," I said, and the strange experiences of the last few hours imported, I felt, a solemnity into my voice, "the ends of justice are sometimes reached by roads we cannot see. It may be so in this sad instance."
"There," said George Carton to his guardian, in a tone of melancholy triumph, "did I not tell you?"
Mr. Dowsett shrugged his shoulders impatiently, and said, "I declare that if I did not love my ward with a love as sincere and perfect as any human being ever felt for another, I would wash my hands of this business altogether."
"But why," said Carton, with much affection, "do you torment yourself about it at all?"