Chapter VI: “auld Lang Syne”

One of the few cases in which I had any association with the police was in connection with the affair of the shooting in Great Glenn Street.

There was, about that time, an epidemic of shooting in that part of London in which the inhabitants, for the most part, are certainly not natives of the great city. The police had made a raid upon a club which they had reason to believe was in reality nothing but a gambling house. On their gaining entrance the lights had been extinguished and firearms had been used by persons who, in the darkness, had been invisible. Three of the constables had been shot--one of them had been killed on the spot, the two others seriously wounded. In the confusion the assassins had escaped. My connection with the matter began on a Tuesday morning, some three weeks after the tragedy had taken place. On the preceding afternoon an arrest had been made in a house in Park Street. The man had made a desperate resistance; there had been shooting on both sides. He had actually killed two officers before he himself was rendered helpless. On the Tuesday morning of which I speak I had business in the City. I learnt, casually, that Park Street was quite close to the spot to which my business took me. I thought I would go and see what sort of place it was; but only persons who could prove that they had business there were allowed to pass into it.

When I saw the crowds which thronged the approaches I wished to go no farther. I never saw such faces. Seldom has that gift of mine for reading what people are saying merely by watching their lips had on me a more curious effect.

On the fringe of the crowd on my right was a thin, undersized, yet intellectual-looking man, on whose sallow cheeks the blue beginnings of a beard lent him an appearance which was almost ghastly. There could be no doubt that he was a foreigner, and one who was ill at ease. He kept giving furtive glances round him, as if he feared that something unpleasant might come at any moment from either side. Presently something did come. A ginger-haired man, with a greasy cloth cap on the back of his head, came shambling past me. He paused as if to look about him. A more unpleasant-looking person one could hardly imagine. Suddenly he caught sight of the individual I had been observing. As he did so his whole being changed. It reminded me of what one reads of the wild beast which bristles and quivers at the sight of its prey. Moving stealthily towards the man with the sallow cheeks, he gripped him by the shoulder. The man, springing from the ground, leaped forward as if to tear himself free, but he of the ginger hair had him in too fast a hold. They eyed one another. Words came from the sallow man’s lips, a torrent of them; I could see them, but what they meant I had no notion. They were in a language of which I had no knowledge.

One thing was evident from the words I saw him utter--he spoke with a strong accent. I had a vague general idea, but his exact words I could not have reproduced. The ginger-haired man turned round so that I could see the whole of his face. There was no mistaking what he said. The words he uttered were sufficiently startling:

“I’ve only got to say a word to these blokes here, and they would tear you to pieces. You mind what you’re saying.”

Whatever the other might have been saying, the ginger-haired man’s words affected him in a manner which it was not pleasant to see. There was an odd movement in his throat, as if there were something the matter with the muscles. Then he spoke again, just two or three words. That time I could see what he said.

“You go away--you let me go.”

“If I let you go, where shall I see you to-night? Don’t you make any mistake about it, I’ve got to see you.”

The other replied:

“Why have you got to see me? What for?”

“Some one will be on the road to the gallows by this time to-morrow if I don’t see you to-night--and you know who.” It was obvious from the sallow man’s bearing that he did. I was conscious of an uncomfortable sensation as I realized the fact. The ginger-haired man went on: “That is, if they don’t out him before the hangman does. I’ve only got to say half a dozen words and the hangman will never have his chance--these here coves would do him out of his job.”

The look in the sallow man’s eyes became accentuated, but for the moment the faculty of speech had gone. The ginger-haired man continued instead.

“All right, you needn’t speak if it hurts you to try. I shall be at Sam’s to-night at ten sharp. I shan’t stop if I don’t find you there; I shall go straight off and make a few remarks to some gentleman who will pay me handsomely for every one of them--and don’t you make any mistake about it.”

The instant he disappeared the sallow-faced man slipped into a street which was in front on the right.

I also departed--in a singularly disturbed state of mind. In the first place, I wished that I had never come; and in the second, I had a most uncomfortable feeling that by my coming I had placed myself in possession of information for which, figuratively, all London was groping. This feeling of discomfort was strengthened by an incident which immediately followed.

A few paces ahead two men were strolling side by side. They were apparently foreigners of the decent mechanic class. At the end of the street they stopped. One of them turned towards the other. I saw him say:

“Come into Sam’s; I’ll introduce you.”

At the corner where they were standing was a shop-front which reminded me of a type of café one finds abroad. There was a good-sized window; the lower half was painted a deep chocolate colour; across the upper half a muslin curtain was drawn which badly needed washing. It was to the building to which this window belonged that the speaker had referred with a motion of his hand. Sam’s? The ginger-haired man had advised the sallow-faced alien to meet him at Sam’s at ten o’clock. Could this be the Sam’s to which he had referred? The pair in front passed through a swing-door. I hesitated. There was nothing to show what the place might be--no name, no sign, no anything. I saw two constables advancing towards me. I addressed them.

“Can you tell me what that place is?”

I motioned towards the window at the corner of the street. They eyed me with what seemed inquiring glances.

“That’s Sam’s,” said one; as he said it he smiled, as if something in my question had amused him.

“Are ladies admitted?”

“Ladies? Well, I don’t know about ladies--it depends upon what you call ladies. Chaps take their wives and sweethearts, and plenty of women--respectable women--go in there by themselves; but as for ladies--well, begging your pardon, I don’t suppose many of Sam’s lady customers pay quite so much for their frocks as I dare say you do.”

“Is the proprietor’s name Sam?”

“I don’t suppose he pays rates and taxes under that name, if that is what you mean. I fancy he is a Pole or a Russian, though he speaks English as well as you or I do; but everybody about here knows him as Sam.”

That night I paid a visit to Sam’s. I had to go, drawn there by a magnet which was stronger than I. The compelling cause was the little scene which I had witnessed between those two men. If they would be there I felt that I must be; that I had to be there, if only to see if they were. I could not make up my mind whether I should, or should not, communicate with the police. I had an intuition that if that meeting did take place, confidences might be exchanged which the police might consider it extremely desirable that they should share. And yet--I could not decide. Not improbably a telephone was available at Sam’s; in a moment a message might be sent to the nearest station; I could give them notice, at the last minute, that assistance might be required, in time for it to reach me.

It was about twenty minutes to ten when I arrived at Sam’s. I need hardly say that I was not wearing the frock to whose cost the policemen had rather pointedly alluded, for I had no wish to have the attention of Sam’s customers attracted to the splendours of my costume. I passed the place four or five times before I actually entered.

When I was in I wondered why I had hesitated as to entering. It seemed quite respectable and fairly clean; and some of the customers, both male and female, were of a better class than I had expected from what the policeman said.

The apartment into which one came after passing the doors was a good large one. I dare say there were between twenty and thirty marble-topped tables, some of them quite large ones. At nearly all of them people were seated; trade was brisk, and there was a babel of voices. I took my seat at a table at which there were already a couple seated. In the hasty glance which I had given round the place I had been unable to discover either of the actors in the scene of the morning. Most of the people seemed to be drinking coffee. I ordered a cup. As it was being brought I looked carefully round; the whole place was visible from where I sat; it was certain that neither of the men was there. I glanced at the clock. It wanted four or five minutes to ten. I sipped my coffee when it came, and found it surprisingly good.

What the people around were talking about I had not a notion; watching their lips told me nothing. I had a feeling that more than one language was being spoken. If there were a dozen, they were all equally unknown to me.

The minutes passed. It was just on ten o’clock when the swing-door opened and the man with the ginger hair looked in. He was probably the only Englishman there. I thought of what I had heard of the unpleasant type of countenance found among low-class aliens. He was to my mind by far the most unpleasant-looking creature there. He glanced round. Not seeing the person he sought, he came farther in and searched more minutely. He glanced at the clock, hesitated, then took a seat at a table near the door. He ordered a cup of coffee from the waiter. When it came he began to swallow it in little gulps, glancing every moment at the clock. The minute-hand marked ten minutes past. He emptied his cup and rose to his feet, muttering something to himself. He might as well have shouted at the top of his voice; it could not have been more audible to me. His face seemed to be distorted by a sudden frenzy of rage.

“I’ll pay him!” Those were the three words he muttered; they were followed by a string of oaths. Then he moved as if to go, and as he did so the sallow-faced man came in.

In the white glare of the electric light he seemed sallower than ever. He was a curious figure as he stood there with one hand still on the swing-door; so short, so slight, such a bundle of nerves; yet, as it were, all instinct with electricity. When he saw the ginger-haired man he held himself straighter, as if he had stiffened; as in the morning, a look came into his eyes which was half rage, half terror. No greetings were exchanged. The new-comer placed himself on a vacant chair. The ginger-haired man sat down on the opposite side of the table. From where I was I could see them perfectly. Then the ginger-haired man said:

“Another half-minute and you’d have been too late.”

The sallow man, resting his arms on the table, seemed to consider the other’s face. Then he spoke in what was no doubt a whisper, which only reached the ears of the man whom he addressed. His accent must have been less marked than it had been in the morning, because I saw so clearly what he said.

“What do you think to gain by going to the police?”

“They offer a reward, don’t they?”

“I see--it is like that--it is the money you are after; so!”

“You take care what you’re saying; you keep a gag on that tongue of yours, or you’ll be sorry.”

“You continually threaten. If it was me you threatened I would not mind--not that.” He made a little movement with his hand. “But my friends--my brother--that is another thing.” The speaker leaned farther forward; probably he dropped his voice still more. “You are a brave man to threaten, to my face, to sell my brother to the police for money.”

The only effect which his words had on the ginger-haired man was to make him angry.

“Do you think I’m afraid of you, or of your friends either? I’ll learn you, if you talk to me like that. I’ll call Sam over here and tell him right out what will settle you and your brother too!”

“My brother did not mean to shoot them.”

“What do I care? You tell that to the police; it don’t interest me.”

“He was a fool. He meant to frighten them; but he had the wrong pistol, and in the dark he did not know it. He thought the pistol was loaded with blank cartridge.”

“I say again, you tell that to the police, it don’t interest me. I don’t care what he meant to do or what he did; that’s his affair, not mine. It’s business I’m after.”

“What do you mean by ‘it’s business you’re after’? What do you want from me?”

The ginger man had been sitting back in his chair. Now he also leaned over the table, so that their faces almost met. He uttered one word: “Money!”

“So! It is money you want from me? You know very well I have no money.”

“I know that I want a hundred pounds from you--and I know I’m going to get it.”

“You’re a fool! I have no hundred pounds, nor have I the moon.”

“You’re going to pay me by instalments, so much a week, until the whole is paid. You’re going to start by giving me this week five golden goblins.”

“I tell you I have not the money; I do not know where to find it.”

“How much have you got on you?”

“Three or four shillings--and that is all the money I possess.”

“Hand it over.”

The sallow-faced man stared as if he did not comprehend.

“But if I give you all that I have got I shall have nothing left. I do not know where the next money is to come from; I shall have none with which to buy food for to-morrow.”

“You hand over what you’ve got, and you turn your pockets inside out to prove that it’s all you’ve got.”

“Do you think I am the sort that will let himself be robbed by such as you? And if I say ‘No,’ what then?”

“Your brother will be in quod to-night--that’s what then. I’ll begin by telling Sam and the blokes here that you’re the brother of the chap that’s wanted for the shooting in Great Glenn Street; they’ll look after you. Then there’ll be some one who’ll get him--don’t you make any mistake about it.”

The sallow man’s big eyes seemed to have grown on a sudden still larger, as if they had been distended by the stress of his emotion. His lips twitched.

“You don’t know where he is!”

The ginger-haired man did not respond upon the instant. Possibly, realizing how the other hung upon his expected answer, he chose to play upon his feelings. When he did speak it was with that hideous grin which made his evil face seem positively diabolical.

“Oh yes, I do know; I know as well as you do--perhaps better.”

“Then where is he?”

“Your precious brother is at No. 3 James Buildings, in the third-floor front--that’s where he is. The room don’t belong to him; it belongs to a lady, and the rent’s a week behind. Perhaps that’s news to you. The lady is trying to find the money to-night to pay the rent in the morning.”

“How do you know?”

“That’s tellings, how I know. I’ve a way of finding out things when I want to. Look here, I’ve had enough of talking. Are you going to hand over?”

“I will give you a shilling to-night, and I will see if I can find some more for you in the morning.”

“A shilling! My crikey, there’s generosity! A shilling for your brother’s life! Chuck that! You’ll not only hand over all the coin you’ve got, you’ll give me your watch and chain and every blessed thing you’ve got about you. And if you can’t find me some more by the morning, I’ll have the clothes off your back. That’s what you’re going to give me as a start for your brother’s life, my lad. Quick, too! Hand over, now, or I’ll call Sam. Which is it to be?”

The ginger-haired man stretched out a huge, filthy hand, palm uppermost, across the table. The other met his eyes, saw what was in them, then proceeded to empty the contents of his pockets into the upturned palm--a pocket-knife, a wooden pencil, a packet of cigarettes, all sorts of oddments, even to his pocket-handkerchief. Still the ginger-haired man was not satisfied.

“Sure that’s all? There’s not much here, you know. You haven’t got a revolver? It’s not a nice thing to carry about with you if it’s loaded.”

“I have nothing of the kind, I swear to you. I never had such a thing; I am not that sort of man.”

“I thought you might have your brother’s. If you haven’t, perhaps you will be able to get it for me. I shall be at the corner of Market Street at half-past eleven to-morrow morning. I am going to have five pounds out of you somehow this week, or--you know what. And don’t you dare to be ten minutes late.”

The ginger-haired man rose from his chair, thrusting the other’s miserable belongings into the side-pocket of his jacket as he did so. Then, pushing the swing-door back, he passed into the night.

I was endeavouring to make up my mind what course I ought to pursue. As I watched the sallow man I kept repeating to myself, “3 James Buildings.” There could be no doubt who was the occupant of that third-floor front; or, at least, it seemed to be clearly my duty to give the police the earliest possible opportunity of resolving what little doubt there was. I asked the waiter, who was a dwarf-like person with scarcely a hair on his parchment-coloured scalp, if there was a telephone in the house. He informed me that there was not, but that there was a public telephone within a couple of minutes’ walk. While I was speaking to the waiter the sallow man, getting quickly off his chair, went swiftly through the swing-doors. Following him in less than half a minute, I found him on the pavement without, talking to a young woman who had a check shawl drawn over her head. They were carrying on what seemed to be an animated conversation, in what was probably a foreign tongue. Cutting it suddenly short, he went hurrying down the street at what was very nearly a run. The girl stood looking after him. Then, I presume, hearing my footsteps, she glanced round towards me. She had quite a pleasant face; was scarcely more than a child--possibly seventeen or eighteen; but in her eyes was that uncomfortable look of something more than terror which had lent such grisly character to the face of the man I could still see hurrying through the street.

I left her there and went to seek the telephone. It was in a small tobacconist’s shop. The people at the exchange put me on at once.

“Is that Scotland Yard?” I asked. “Who is that speaking? Put me on to Inspector Ellis. I am Judith Lee. I have an idea that I can put you on the track of the man you want for the shooting in Great Glenn Street.”

There came along the wire a sound which was very like an ejaculation of surprise, even of incredulity.

“Are you serious, Miss Lee? Where are you speaking?”

“I want you to send half a dozen men in plain clothes, made up to look as little like policemen as they can manage, to the corner of Perrivale Street as soon as possible. Let them go singly and appear not to know each other when they get there. I fancy it’s a ticklish job they’ll have to handle. The great thing is not to arouse suspicion till the thing is done. You had better come with them. How long will it be before you are there?”

“I’ll be there as soon as a taxicab can bring me.”

“Will you be there, say, in fifteen minutes?”

“Before that--probably in less than ten.”

When I came out of the telephone-box there were two women standing under a lamp-post on the edge of the pavement. I recognized one as the girl with a shawl over her head who had been outside Sam’s talking to the sallow man. The other was bare-headed, so that I could see her scanty grey hair and how her face was seamed with wrinkles. They were so absorbed in what they were saying that they did not notice me standing at the door of the telephone-box. They seemed to be in a state of almost hysterical agitation; unless I erred, tears were in the voices as well as in the eyes of both. I looked at their lips, expecting to find that they were still speaking in that unknown tongue, and that, therefore, what they were saying was sealed from me. After watching them a moment, however, it struck me that, while they were not speaking in English, some of the words they uttered were not unfamiliar.

A few months before the occurrences of which I am writing I had received an invitation from certain persons who were starting an institution for the education of deaf-mutes in the town of Posen, in the province of that name, in that part of Eastern Germany which is adjacent to Poland. I was invited for a month, but I stayed four. I had a fair knowledge of German before I went, but the variety of the language which was spoken in that part was new to me. Before, however, I came away it had become more familiar. I had only to watch the two women standing under the lamp-post closely for a few seconds to perceive that that was the tongue they were speaking.

At first I merely caught a word here and there. Only by degrees did I obtain anything like a clear insight into what they were saying. When I did understand I lost words here and there, so that I had to guess at them, but I learnt sufficient to render me thankful that I had been able to learn so much.

One of the first words I caught was “bomb”--which in German is “Bombe.” My interest in their conversation grew when I realized that the word was being formed on the younger woman’s lips again and again, and the sense in which it was being used. She repeated the same statement two or three times.

“I tell you he has got a bomb on a little table by his bed.”

“But why a bomb?” the elder asked.

“Because he will not be taken. I have a particular

way of entering the room; he would know in a second if it was anyone else who wished to enter. He says that if anyone tries to enter the room, some one who is not me, he will push the bomb over on to the floor--and that will be the end of everything.”

“He must be mad to have a thing like that at his bedside. Suppose the table were to tumble over?”

“That would be the end! I tell you I am afraid to go near it, to look at it. I would not touch it for all the money in the world. It is made of some sort of glass; he says that if you hold it in your hand and squeeze, closing your fingers on it sharply, like that”--she demonstrated her meaning with her outstretched hand--“that would be enough. What I have suffered because of that thing!”

The girl covered her face with the edge of her shawl, as if to hide from herself the dreadful picture her imagination had conjured up. The tears were streaming down the old woman’s wrinkled cheeks.

“He must be mad,” she wailed, “to have a thing like that beside his bed.”

“That is not the worst,” continued the girl. “How can I tell you what I suffer when I return? When I am going up the stairs my knees tremble so that I can scarcely mount them; I tremble so that I can hardly think of the signal which tells him it is I. Consider what would happen if I made one little slip; he would not wait to give me a chance to put it right--he has sworn it. That same moment the bomb would fall.”

The two women were reducing themselves almost to a state of nervous collapse by their own words. They both of them trembled and cried.

“What is the signal which you give?” asked the elder.

“It begins when I enter the house. I give one whistle--like that.” She gave utterance to a clear, bird-like note. “As I ascend the stairs I sing, something different nearly every day. He is so afraid that some one will hear me and imitate that he makes me continually change. To-night it is to be a verse of an English song--like this.”

As I stood on the step of the telephone-box she sang, just above her breath, so that the air reached me, the chorus of “Auld Lang Syne,” with the strangest accent.

“It is an English song; I do not know what it means. He sang it to me--you know how well he sings.”

“He can still sing?” There was an anxious note in the elder woman’s voice.

“Yes, a little; enough to make me understand. I do not ask him to explain; I copy him as nearly as I can; for him that is sufficient. I sing this song as I am ascending, my knees shaking, my tongue dry in my mouth. When I reach the top, I pronounce what he calls the password loud enough for him to hear it on the other side; to-night it is ‘Gruss.’ Then I knock on the door, three times; first one tap, then two taps, then three taps; then I go in, and I sigh with thankfulness because I am still alive. Then I see the bomb upon the table, and I am worse than ever, because the sight of it terrifies me more than I can tell you.”

“But there are other people in the house; they cannot go through all this performance each time they go in or out?”

“That is where you are wrong; there is no one else in the house; except that one, all the rooms are empty--that has been arranged. See, I have here the street-door key; with that I let myself in; and----”

The elder woman interrupted her, without glancing in my direction; so that if I had not been observing her lips I should not have guessed that it was to me she referred.

“Why does that woman stay so long upon the step? You see how she is watching us?”

The younger answered not a word. Without a look in my direction she glided away, up the street on my left; while, without so much--so far as I could perceive--as a peep towards me, the elder went trudging past me on the right.

Within a very few minutes I was at the corner of Perrivale Street. As I neared it a man came and accosted me.

“Miss Lee? I thought that you were not coming, that some hoax had been played. I am Mr. Ellis--you telephoned to me just now.”

“Where are the men I asked you to send?”

“They are about the street, separately. They will gather at a word from me. They are in charge of Inspector Davis, who is standing in front of that shop-window smoking a pipe.”

I noted the burly figure to which he referred. So far as I could judge, there was nothing to point to the presence of his six policemen. He went on:

“Where is this man of whom you spoke? Are you sure that you are on his track, or is it merely surmise?”

“This is going to be a much more delicate business, Mr. Ellis, even than I supposed. The man who tries to arrest him will do so not only at the peril of his own life, but of the lives of others.”

“Do you mean that there will be more shooting? We are prepared for that.”

“I do not mean that there will be more shooting.”

I told him of the conversation with which I had just been made acquainted. He heard me with growing amazement.

“Do you mean to say that the fellow has a bomb with him in his room, which he will explode if anyone tries to take him? He will do for himself if he does. Where’s the gain?”

“That I cannot tell you. These people seem to have their own ideas. He will not only do for himself and his would-be captor, or captors, but he’ll work wholesale havoc in the neighbourhood. That is a consummation not to be desired.”

Mr. Ellis’s manner suggested that he was excited.

“But, even if you are right, even if the fellow is such a hideous monster--because he is a hideous monster, is he to defy us, to escape us? Are we not to take him? What are we to do?”

“I’ll tell you what we will do. I will take him.”

“You! You will take him! What do you mean by you will take him? Do you imagine that we will allow you to do our work, to do what we dare not do, to run a risk which we should be afraid to take? You are dreaming.”

“I am not dreaming. It is because I am very wide-awake that I make the proposition. There will be not only risk in your case, there will be certainty. It would be absolutely certain that you would bring destruction upon innocent heads; while, in my case, there will be practically no risk at all. Let me explain.”

He condescended to listen as I went scampering on.

“This girl, from whom I learnt about the bomb, is the only person who is allowed to approach his room. You must remember that the house is empty. She is the only person he permits to enter. I propose to pretend to be her.”

“Do you mean that you’re going to make up to imitate her? He would probably detect you in an instant.”

“Not at all. I’m not going to try to imitate her in appearance. Haven’t I been telling you about the elaborate series of signals by which she announces to him her coming, and how she described them in detail to the other woman? They’re what I’m going to imitate. I know them off by heart. Before he’s begun even to suspect that there’s anything wrong I shall be in his room.”

“There is, I am free to admit, a certain amount of sense in your suggestion. The idea of imitating the girl’s signals is not bad; but if you try that we shall have to enter the house with you--some of us, at any rate; and, keeping close at your heels, go into the room with you, and trust to luck to down him before he’s reached his bomb. There are women in the force. I’ll get one here. You can tell her about the signals, she can work them instead of you. It’s her business--as I said, each to his job.”

“And don’t you realize that by this time that girl has probably gone back to him, or may go back at any moment, and that then your chance is lost? If anything is to be done, it must be done at once--now, and I will do it.”

“Where’s the fellow to be found?”

“He’s at 3 James Buildings, in a room on the third-floor front.”

“That’s just round the corner, less than a minute from here. If you and I go on in front, my men will follow.”

He turned into a narrow side-street. There was not a soul in sight. A woman came out of a doorway on the left perhaps a dozen yards in front of us. I whispered to my companion:

“That’s the girl--the one I saw talking about the bomb. She is probably going to him now; if she gets to him first we are done.”

Mr. Ellis made a curious sound--I think he did it with his tongue between his teeth. The girl hurrying along in front stopped and looked round, as if to see from whom it came. Two men, appearing from what I take it was an alley on the right, were on her before she could move. Each had her by an arm.

She never uttered a sound or attempted to struggle. When we got to her she seemed paralysed with terror--trembling as if, without the support of her captors, she would have fallen.

Mr. Ellis spoke.

“You two had better look after her--take her to the station; detain her till I come.” He addressed the girl. “Do you speak English?”

“I have no English.” It was with difficulty that she spoke. Then she saw me. “You!” she exclaimed in German. “You were on the step.”

I said to Mr. Ellis:

“Can’t I have her shawl? It might enable me to carry the deception a little further if I have it. He’ll spot the trick at once if I enter the room with a hat and jacket on. Apparently she wears neither.”

They took her shawl. Removing my hat and jacket, entrusting them to the men who had her in charge, I donned the shawl in their place. A notion seemed to dawn on her of what the proceeding meant. She began all at once to struggle violently, breaking into voluble speech.

“Off with her,” directed Mr. Ellis. “We don’t want any fuss here.”

I sped on in front. After a second or two he joined me.

“James Buildings is the next turning on the left,” said Mr. Ellis. “You had better go on ahead. When you have got the door open we will follow--my men are all here. But for Heaven’s sake run no more risk than you can help.”

His words were sounding in my ears as I stole down the narrow street. All the windows seemed to be in darkness; there was not a creature to be seen. As I went a thought suddenly occurred to me--I had no key. The girl had spoken about gaining admission with a key. It seemed that the only thing to be done was to go back to her in search of it.

As I decided that the only thing to be done was to return and tell Mr. Ellis of my stupidity I drew the shawl closer around me and--something struck me quite a smart blow over the breast as I swung the corner over. There was something concealed in the shawl. I felt for it; something hard was tied in a knot in the corner. I unloosed it. It was a key--possibly the key I wanted.

I hurried on with the key in my hand. Odd numbers were on one side of the street, even on the other. The door of No. 3 was in a shocking state. I could see how grimy the windows were, and how the blinds which veiled them were in keeping. There was not a glimmer at one of them. I was just about to insert the key into the lock when I thought of the whistle the girl had said she always gave before she did so. I am rather a good whistler; but it was odd how, on a sudden, I had become doubtful of my capacity. With difficulty I produced the note. I had not intended it to be a loud one, yet it seemed to me that it must have been audible streets away. Then I put the key into the lock and opened the door.

As I did so some one came up behind me. It was Mr. Ellis. I had seen him coming, but so noiselessly had he moved that I had heard nothing. Four other men came after him. We entered the hall--I first, Mr. Ellis and his four men after me. The moment my foot crossed the threshold I began to sing the chorus of “Auld Lang Syne.” The girl’s voice had been soprano; hers had struck me as being very soft and sweet; I felt that mine was shriller. I tried to pronounce the words as she had done, so that they seemed to an English ear to be so much gibberish. I do not know to what extent I succeeded in rendering it as she would have done; I do know that singing that immortal chorus under such conditions had on me the most singular effect. I wondered what effect the performance was producing upstairs.

One of the constables had a dark lantern, by whose light we ascended the uncarpeted, rickety staircase. Two men remained below to keep an eye on the street; Mr. Ellis and the two others went up with me. Not a word was spoken; my singing was the only sound there was. I was through the chorus before we were up the second flight of stairs, so, in order to cover a possible stumble on the part of the men behind me, I started it again.

We reached the third floor. There was a door immediately in front of us. As I paused my heart was beating so noisily that it seemed to me it must be audible to whoever might be within.

I gritted my teeth as I knocked at the door--one tap; then knocked again--two taps; another interval--three taps. Then I grasped the handle, turned it, opened the door, and went into the room, with my heart in my mouth.

The programme we had arranged was that I was to enter the room alone, divert the attention of the man within, then give a tiny whistle, and Mr. Ellis and his companions were to appear, and ensure his never reaching the bomb at all.

When I opened the door it was to find that there was darkness in the room. This was unlooked for. I had expected to find a light of some sort, if only a candle or a lamp. It was a strange sensation to enter a room of which I knew nothing and could see nothing, with the consciousness strong upon me that it was occupied by a desperate, blood-stained wretch, who had that hideous weapon of destruction within reach of his fingers. No words of mine could describe my feelings. I did not know whether to move or to speak, or what to do. Any instant, in the darkness, before we knew what he was about to do, the bomb might be thrown--death would be on us.

I longed for a light; yet how was I to get one, ignorant as I was of the geography of the room and of what it contained? I ventured to move, and struck against the back of a chair. He must have heard. I had a sudden feeling that the dreadful silence could not continue. I summoned up my knowledge of the sort of German the girl had spoken.

“Where are you? Why do you not speak to me? Why are you hiding? Why is it so dark?”

When I had put my four questions I had a fresh access of fright. Now I felt the bomb must come, but it did not. The silence continued, and on the instant I became conscious of a quality in the silence which made me behave as if I had lost my head. I broke into reiterated exclamation, throwing open the door.

“Give me a light! Give me a light! Give me a light!”

The constable turned the shutter of his dark lantern, and allowed its light to travel round the room.

“What’s that,” he asked, “upon the bed?”

The light was resting on what seemed to be a truckle bed, on which something was lying. It was a man, huddled up anyhow, partially dressed, amid some filthy scanty bed-clothes. I thought for the moment he was dead. But as we looked he turned slowly over on to his side, and stretched a lean, brown hand towards an old deal table within a foot of his bedside, on which was a quantity of the sort of wool which they use for stuffing chairs. Resting on this was what looked like one of the gleaming glass balls which serve as decorations for Christmas-trees.

It burst on me what it was. Ere his hand got there I snatched it up. As I did so he rolled off rather than rose from his bed, jerking towards me his claw-like fingers. I shrieked; I had to. Mr. Ellis and his men rushed forward. Some one caught the man by the shoulder. The instant he was touched he collapsed on the floor--dead; so near he had been to dying when we came in.

Later inspection by experts made it clear that the glass ball I had caught up was a bomb of a particularly diabolical sort. Had it been exploded in that small room the whole of James Buildings might have been destroyed with their inhabitants. Death, however, removed its owner before he had been able to put his benevolent design into execution.

The girl whose shawl I had annexed made a statement to the police, by which it appeared that the man’s name was Stepan Grilovitch. His chiefly had been the hand which had dealt out death in Great Glenn Street. There the shooting had taken place in a darkened room. As, in the circumstances, was not surprising, a shot from one of his friends had struck him; he had been conveyed to that upper room, where he had been in charge of the girl ever since. The wound had gangrened. A doctor might have prevented it; on the other hand, a doctor would almost certainly have sent him to the gallows. He preferred to die in another way instead. What became of his brother I do not know; he has never crossed my orbit since. Nor, thank goodness, have I seen anything more of the man with the ginger hair.

I shall never forget mounting that rickety staircase, singing “Auld Lang Syne”; or those awful moments in the pitch-black room.

It was only afterwards I remembered that when I reached the top of the staircase, before tapping at the door, I had omitted to give what the girl said Stepan Grilovitch called the password: “Gruss!” What a shudder went all over me in the first shock of recollection! Sometimes that shudder comes over me still.