Chapter XXIV: Mr. Kenneth Dowsett Gives Me the Slip

The beating of my heart became normal; I suppose it was the sudden appearance of a gentleman with whose face I was familiar, after many hours of suspense, that had caused its pulsations to become so rapid and violent. There was nothing surprising, after all, in the presence of Mr. Dowsett in Devlin's shop. His address was in Westminster, Devlin was an exceptionally fine workman, the accommodation was luxurious, the charges low. Even I, in my position in life, would be tempted to deal occasionally with so expert and perfect a barber as Devlin, at the prices he charged. Then, why not Mr. Kenneth Dowsett? Besides, he might be of a frugal turn.

Devlin was not long engaged over him. Mr. Dowsett was shaved; Mr. Dowsett had his hair brushed by machinery; Mr. Dowsett, moreover, was very particular as to the arrangement of his hair; and Devlin, I saw, did his best to please him. But so deft and facile was Devlin that he did not dally with Mr. Dowsett for longer than five or six minutes. Mr. Dowsett rose, paid Devlin, exchanged a few smiling words with him, and taking a final look at himself in the mirrors, turning himself this way and that, walked out of the shop. Evidently Mr. Dowsett was a very vain man.

No sooner was he gone than Devlin locked the shop-door from within, whipped off his linen jacket, and opened the door of the room in which I was sitting. I came forward in no amiable mood.

"You are wearied with your long enforced rest," said Devlin.

"I am wearied and disgusted," I retorted. "I expected a clue."

"Have you not received it?" asked Devlin, smiling.

"Received it!" I echoed. "How? Where?"

"You have seen my customers, and all that has passed between me and them."

"Well?"

"Well?" he said, mocking me. "Is there not one among them upon whom your suspicions are fixed? Is there not one among them who could, if he chose, supply us with a starting-point? I say 'us,' because we are comrades."

"Fool, fool, that I was!" I exclaimed, involuntarily raising my hand to my forehead. "Why did I allow him to escape?"

"Why did you let whom escape you?" asked Devlin, in a bantering tone.

"The man whose beard and moustache you shaved off. He must have a reason, a vital reason, for effecting this disguise in himself. And I have let him slip through my fingers!"

"He has a vital reason for so disguising himself," said Devlin, "but it has no connection with the murder of Lizzie Melladew."

"Then what do you mean?" I cried, "by asking me whether I have not received a clue?"

"Was your attention attracted to no other of my customers than this man?"

"There was only one who was known to me--Mr. Kenneth Dowsett."

"Ah!" said Devlin. "Mr. Kenneth Dowsett."

A light seemed to dawn suddenly upon me, but the suggestion conveyed in Devlin's significant tone so amazed me that I could not receive it unquestioningly.

"Do you mean to tell me," I cried, "that you suspect Mr. Dowsett of complicity in this frightful murder?"

"I mean to tell you nothing of my suspicions," replied Devlin. "It is for you, not for me, to suspect. It is for you, not for me, to draw conclusions. What I know positively of Mr. Dowsett--with whose name I was unacquainted until last evening, when you mentioned it in Lemon's house--I will tell you, if you wish."

"Tell me, then."

"It is short but pregnant. Through Mr. Kenneth Dowsett's mind, as I shaved him and dressed his hair on Friday last, passed the picture of a beautiful girl, with golden hair, wearing a bunch of white daisies in her belt. Through his mind passed a picture of a lake of still water in Victoria Park. Through his mind passed a vision of blood."

"Are you a devil," I exclaimed, "that you did not step in to prevent the deed?"

"My dear sir," he said, seizing my arm, which I had involuntarily raised, and holding it as in a vice, "you are unreasonable. I have never in my life been in Victoria Park, which, I believe, covers a large space of ground. Why should I elect to pass an intensely uncomfortable night, wandering about paths in an unknown place, to interfere in I know not what? Even were I an interested party, it would be an act of folly, for such a proceeding would lay me open to suspicion. A nice task you would allot to me when you tacitly declare that it should be my mission to prevent the commission of human crime! Then how was I to gauge the precise value of Mr. Dowsett's thoughts? He might be a dramatist, inventing a sensational plot for a popular theatre; he might be an author of exciting fiction. Give over your absurdities, and school yourself into calmer methods. Unless you do so, you will have small chance of unravelling this mystery. And consider, my dear sir," he added, making me a mocking bow, "if I am a devil, how honoured you should be that I accept you as my comrade!"

The tone in which he spoke was calm and measured; indeed, it had not escaped my observation that, whether he was inclined to be malignant or agreeable, insinuating or threatening, he never raised his voice above a certain pitch. I inwardly acknowledged the wisdom of his counsel that I should keep my passion in control, and I resolved from that moment to follow it.

"You locked the shop-door," I said, "when Mr. Dowsett left you just now."

"I did," was his response, "thinking it would be your wish that I should do no more business to-day."

"Why should you think that?"

"Because of what was passing through Mr. Dowsett's mind."

"I ask you to pardon me for my display of passion. What was Mr. Dowsett thinking of?"

"Of two very simple matters," said Devlin; "the time of day and an address. The time was fifteen minutes past three, the address, 28 Athelstan Road."

"Nothing more?" I inquired, much puzzled.

"Nothing more."

I pondered a moment; I could draw no immediate conclusion from material so bare. I asked Devlin what he could make of it; he replied, politely, that it was for me, not for him, to make what I could of it. A suggestion presented itself.

"At fifteen minutes past three," I said, "Mr. Dowsett has an appointment with some person at 28 Athelstan Road."

"Possibly," said Devlin.

"Have you a 'London Directory'?"

"I have not; nor, I imagine, will you easily find one in this neighbourhood."

"A simpler plan," I said, "perhaps will be to go to Mr. Dowsett's house, to which he has most likely returned, and set watch there for him, keeping ourselves well out of sight. It is now twenty minutes past one; we can reach his house in ten minutes. He will hardly leave it for his appointment till two, or a little past. We will follow him secretly, and ascertain whom he is going to see, and his purpose. I am determined now to adopt bold measures. Behind this frightful mystery there is another, which shall be brought to light. You will accompany me?"

"I am at your orders," said Devlin.

We left the house together, and in the time I specified were within a few yards of Mr. Dowsett's residence. Aware of the importance of not attracting attention, I looked about for a means of escaping observation. Nearly opposite Mr. Dowsett's dwelling was a public-house, in the first-floor window of which I saw a placard, "Billiards. Pool." I concluded that it was the window of a billiard-room, and without hesitation I entered the public-house, followed by Devlin, and mounted the stairs. The room, as I supposed, contained a billiard-table; the marker, a very pale and very thin youth, was practising the spot stroke.

"Billiards, sir?" he asked, as we entered.

"Yes," I said, "we wish to play a private game. How much an hour?"

"Eighteenpence."

"Here are five shillings," I said, "for a couple of hours. We shall not want you to mark. Don't let us be disturbed."

The pale thin youth took the money, laid down his cue, and left us to ourselves. When he was gone I placed a chair at an angle against the handle of the door, there being no key in the lock, and thus prevented the entrance of any person without notice. It was the leisure time of the day, and there was little fear of our being disturbed. The extra gratuity I had given to the marker would insure privacy. As I took my station at the window, from which Mr. Dowsett's house was in full view, Devlin nodded approval of my proceedings.

"You are a man of resource," he said. "I perceive that you intend henceforth to act sensibly."

Minute after minute passed, and there was no sign of any person leaving or entering Mr. Dowsett's house. Every now and then I consulted my watch. Two o'clock--a quarter-past two--half-past. I began to grow impatient, but, to please Devlin, did not exhibit it. Perfect silence reigned between us; we exchanged not a word.

Time waned, and now I more frequently looked at my watch, the hands of which were drawing on to three. They reached the hour and passed it. A quarter-past three.

Perplexed and disappointed, I debated on my next move. I soon decided what it should be. I had promised Richard Carton that I would call upon him. I would do so now. If Mr. Dowsett was at home, all the better.

I made Devlin acquainted with my resolve, and he said,

"Very good; I will go with you."

Removing the chair I had placed against the handle of the door, we went from the public-house and crossed the road. I knocked at Mr. Dowsett's door, and a maidservant answered the summons.

"Does Mr. Kenneth Dowsett live here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is he at home?"

"No, sir."

"Is Mr. Richard Carton in?"

"Yes, sir."

"Give him my card, and say I wish to see him."

"Will you please walk this way, sir?" said the maidservant.

She ushered us into the dining-room, where she left us alone while she went to apprise Richard Carton of my visit. The room was exceedingly well furnished. Good pictures were on the walls, and there was a tasteful arrangement of bric-a-brac and bronzes. I had no time for further observation, the entrance of Richard Carton claiming my attention.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "you have come. I was beginning to be afraid you would disappoint me."

"You delivered my letter to my wife?" I asked.

"Yes, and the desk. My guardian wanted to persuade me to leave it till this morning, but I would not."

"You were quite right."

He looked towards Devlin.

"A friend," I said, waving my hand as a kind of introduction, "who may be of assistance to us."

"But introduce us plainly," expostulated Devlin.

"Mr. Devlin," I said, "Mr. Richard Carton."

They shook hands, and then Carton inquired whether I had anything to tell him.

"Nothing tangible," I replied, "but we are on the road."

"Yes," repeated Devlin, "we are on the road."

"Excuse me for asking," said Carton to Devlin, "but are you a detective?"

"In a spiritual way," said Devlin.

Carton's mind was too deeply occupied with the one supreme subject of the murder to ask for an explanation of this enigmatical reply. He turned towards me.

"Is your guardian in?" I inquired.

"No," said Carton.

What should I say next? It would have been folly to make Richard Carton a participant in the strange revelations which were directing my proceedings.

"Can you tell me," I asked, "where Athelstan Road is?"

"It is in Margate," he replied, in a tone of surprise, "and the number is 28."

It was my turn now to exhibit surprise. "No. 28!" I exclaimed. "Who lives there?"

"I don't know. Mrs. Dowsett and Letitia went to Margate by an early train on Saturday morning, before I was awake, and my guardian has gone there to see them. I should have proposed to go with him had it not been for my determination not to leave London till this dreadful mystery was cleared up; and then there was the promise you made me give you last night, that I should remain here all the day till you came to see me."

"When did your guardian go to Margate?" I asked.

"He has gone from Victoria," replied Carton, glancing at a marble clock on the mantelshelf, "by the Granville train. It starts at fifteen minutes past three."

I also glanced at the clock. It was just half-past three, a quarter of an hour past the time!