The Wiles of the Wicked. Le Queux William

been foolishly stupid, for I’ve left it, and I could never find my way back again. I’m blind, you see, and I’ve no idea of its exterior appearance.”

      “At any rate you’ve been near enough to the affair to get yourself in a pretty mess,” the rough voice said, somewhat suspiciously. “Surely you have some idea of where the affair took place?”

      The situation was certainly the most curious in which any man could be placed, for with only one thought in my mind, namely, to raise the alarm, I had gone forth from the house of mystery and failed to mark it. This negligence of mine might, I reflected, result in the affair being hushed up for ever. London is a big place in which to search for the scene of a murder upon which my eyes had never gazed, and the details of which I only knew by my sense of touch. How many thousands of houses there were in the West End each with its smoke-blackened portico and little piece of area railing.

      “No,” I responded to the officer’s inquiry. “I was so bent upon giving information that I forgot to place any mark upon the house by which to know it again.”

      “Well, I’ve ’eard a good many funny stories while I’ve been on night-duty in these eighteen years, but your yarn is about the rummest of the lot,” he said bluntly.

      “I only know that the house is a large one, very well furnished, and has a portico and railings in front – a double house, with hall in the centre, and rooms on either side.”

      “That don’t ’elp us very much, sonny,” the voice observed. “What’s the good o’ running after me with a yarn like this if you can’t take me to the spot? To judge from the state of your clothes, though, you’ve been in some scrap or another. If your coat was not covered with blood as it is, I’d be inclined to put you down as a chap with a screw loose.”

      “I’m not demented, I tell you,” I cried warmly. “There’s a terrible crime been committed, and I have sought your assistance.”

      “And I’d go and have a look at the premises with you, if you could only tell me where they are. But as you can’t – well, what are we to do, sonny?”

      Chapter Four

      The Woman

      “Take me at once to the police-station,” I said firmly. “I must make a statement to your inspector on duty.”

      “Not much good, is it, if you can’t tell us where the affair took place?” queried the man, impertinently.

      “It is my duty to make the report, and the duty of the police to investigate it,” I answered, annoyed, for it seemed as though he doubted me.

      “That’s a nasty cut on your hand,” he remarked. “How did you get it?”

      “I cut it myself by accident with the knife.”

      “What knife?”

      “The knife with which the murders were committed.”

      “And what were you doing with it?” inquired the constable, utterly regardless of the strict police regulation which forbids an officer to put any such questions.

      “I found it,” I replied.

      “Where?”

      “On the floor of the room, while I was searching about.”

      The man grunted dubiously.

      I was well aware of the suspicion which must fall upon me, for I knew there was blood upon my clothes, and that my story possessed a distinct air of improbability.

      “Who injured your head like that?” he asked.

      In response, I told him how, in crossing a road, I had been knocked down and rendered insensible by a cab, and how, on regaining consciousness, I had found myself under the care of some woman unknown.

      He gave vent to a short harsh laugh, as though discrediting my statements.

      “You don’t believe me,” I blurted forth hastily. “Take me to your inspector. We must lose no time.”

      “Well, you know,” observed the man, “your story, you’ll admit, is a very extraordinary one. You say that a terrible affair has happened in a house somewhere about here, yet you can’t direct us to it. The whole story is so curious that I’m afraid you’ll have a difficulty in persuading anybody to believe you.”

      “If you don’t, somebody else will,” I snapped. “Come, take me to the police-station.”

      Thus ordered, the man rather reluctantly took my arm, and crossing the wide main road, we traversed a number of short crooked thoroughfares.

      “You don’t seem a very good walker, mister,” the constable observed presently. “I see a cab in the distance. Would you like to take it?”

      “Yes. Call it,” I said, for I felt very weak and ill after my terrible night’s adventure.

      A few minutes later we were sitting together in the hansom, driving towards the address he had given, namely, College Place Police-Station.

      On the way I explained to him the whole of the facts as far as I could recollect them. He listened attentively to my curious narrative until I had concluded, then said —

      “Well, sir, it’s certainly a most mysterious affair, and the only fear I have is that everybody will look upon it with disbelief. I know what I should do if I were a gentleman in your place.”

      “What would you do?”

      “Well, I should keep my knowledge to myself, say nothing about it, and leave the revelation of the crime to chance.”

      “I am compelled to make a report of it, because I was present at the tragedy,” I said. “It is my duty, in the interests of justice.”

      “Of course, that’s all very well, I quite agree that your duty as a citizen is to make a statement to my inspector, but if I may be permitted to say so, my private opinion is, that to preserve a discreet silence is better than making a fool of one’s self.”

      “You’re certainly plain-spoken,” I said smiling.

      “Oh, well, you’ll excuse me, sir,” the man said, half-apologetically. “I mean no offence, you know. I only tell you how I myself would act. Now, if you could give any real information of value to the detectives, there would be some reason for making the statement, but as you can’t, well you’ll only give yourself no end of bother for nothing.”

      “But surely, man, you don’t think that with the knowledge of this terrible affair in my mind I’m going to preserve silence and allow the assassin to escape, do you?”

      “Well, it seems that the assassin has escaped already, in any case,” the man laughed. “You take it from me that they were a cute lot in that house, whoever they were. The wonder is that they didn’t kill you.”

      An exactly similar thought had crossed my mind. The drive seemed a long one, but at length the cab stopped, and we alighted.

      I heard the conveyance turn and go off, as together we ascended the steps of the station. One thing struck me as curious, namely, that the air was filled with a strong odour like turpentine.

      “The station is a long way from your beat,” I remarked.

      “Yes. A fairish way, but we’re used to it, and don’t notice the distance.”

      “And this is College Place – is it?”

      “Yes,” he responded, conducting me down a long passage. The length of the corridor surprised me, and I humorously remarked —

      “You’re not going to put me in the cells, I hope?”

      “Scarcely,” he laughed. “But if we did the darkness wouldn’t trouble you very much, I fear. Blindness must be an awful affliction.”

      He had scarcely uttered these words ere we ascended a couple of steps and entered what seemed to be a spacious place, the charge-room of the police-station.

      There was the sound of heavy tramping over bare boards, and suddenly