An Eye for an Eye. Le Queux William

replied my companion. “Lots of people believe in such things, especially betting men.”

      “He was evidently very careful of it,” I said, at the same time searching and finding another pocket on the other side of the vest, and from this I took a neat little cloth-covered case, not much larger than those containing cigarette tubes, and found on opening it that it contained a small hypodermic syringe, complete with its needles and accessories.

      “This shows that he was addicted to the morphia habit,” I remarked. “An overdose, perhaps.”

      My friend, who had now recovered something of his coolness and self-possession, took the tiny instrument and examined it carefully beneath the gas-light.

      “There’s been no morphia in this lately,” he said. “It’s quite dry, and certainly hasn’t been used to-day.”

      “Let’s search the whole house,” I suggested. “We may find something which will give us a clue as to who and what these people were. Funny that the servants don’t come back, isn’t it?”

      “I don’t expect they will,” answered Patterson.

      “Depend upon it that there’s more mystery in this affair than we at present suspect.”

      “Why?”

      “Look at these,” he said, passing over to me the three banknotes found upon the dead man. “They are spurious!”

      No second glance was needed to convince me that he spoke the truth. They were clever imitations of ten-pound notes, but the paper, the despair of the forger, was thick and entirely different to that of the genuine bank-note.

      Again I glanced at that beautiful woman’s face with its smile of mingled ecstatic pleasure and bitterness. Her sightless eyes seemed fixed upon me, following me as I moved.

      I drew back horrified, shuddering. Her gaze was ghastly.

      “It certainly is a most mysterious affair,” I ejaculated again, glancing around the place. “You ought at once to report it.”

      “No,” cried my companion quickly. “The discovery must be yours. You must report it, Mr Urwin.”

      “Why?”

      “Because, as I’ve already told you, I fear to do so on account of the snake.”

      I smiled at his curious objection, but an instant later grew serious because of the sharp and sudden ringing of an electric bell somewhere on the ground floor. It was the bell my companion had heard when first knocking at the door.

      We both listened for a few moments while the ringing continued, until with sudden resolve I dashed downstairs to ascertain where the bell was. Without difficulty I found it, for there in the hall, revealed by the gas-lamp we had lit, was a telephone instrument with its bell agitated violently.

      Without a second’s delay I placed the receiver to my ear and gave the usual signal —

      “Hulloa! Hulloa?”

      The whirr and clicking stopped, and a voice, squeaky as that of an elderly person, said petulantly —

      “I’ve been ringing up for an hour or more. What’s wrong that you haven’t replied? You’re at fifty-eight, aren’t you?”

      “Yes,” I answered, recollecting that fifty-eight was the number of that house. “Nothing is wrong. Why? Can’t you be patient?”

      “I felt uneasy,” answered the mysterious voice apologetically. “I thought there might possibly have been some hitch as you haven’t rung up.”

      “No,” I responded. “None.”

      “Then of course it’s all over?” inquired the voice. I started at this strange query. This unknown inquirer was evidently in possession of the truth, and believed himself to be talking to an accomplice. He knew of the commission of the crime, therefore it occurred to me that by the exercise of due caution I might be able to discover his identity.

      “Yes,” I answered, breathless in excitement.

      “Both?” asked the voice.

      “Both,” I responded.

      “Good. Then I shall see you at the place we arranged – eh?”

      “Of course,” I answered. “But when? I’ve forgotten.”

      “Forgotten!” echoed the squeaky voice in a tone of undisguised disgust. “Take care, or you’ll blunder yet. You’re a confounded idiot. Why, to-morrow at midday.”

      “I know I’m a fool,” I replied. “But in the excitement it’s quite slipped my memory where you said I was to meet you.”

      Then, holding the receiver tremblingly to my ear, I listened with quick heart-beating for the response of that mysterious, far distant voice which squeaked so strangely, sounding thin and high-pitched, more like that of a woman than of a man.

      “You’re a confounded fool to waste time like this if you’re still at fifty-eight,” said the voice.

      “You’ve said so before,” I responded. “But where shall I meet you?”

      Chapter Three

      An Appointment

      The voice answered at last —

      “I’ll meet you beside the lake in St. James’s Park, Buckingham Palace end, at twelve to-morrow. Remember that.”

      “Very well,” I responded eagerly. “Anything more?”

      “No,” was the reply. “Be careful how you get out, and where you go. So long!”

      Then, next instant, I knew by the sound that the connexion had been switched off.

      “What’s the matter?” asked Patterson, now beside me.

      “Wait, and I’ll tell you afterwards,” I said, at the same time ringing up again.

      In response I was answered by a feminine voice at the Exchange, who inquired what number I desired.

      “Tell me, miss, who has just been speaking to me. Kindly oblige me, as it’s most important.”

      There was silence for a few moments, then the female voice inquired – “Are you there?” to which I responded.

      “You were on a moment ago with 14,982, the public call-office at Putney.”

      “How long was I on?”

      “About ten minutes.”

      “Have I been on to the same place before this evening?” I asked.

      “No. Several numbers have been ringing you up, but you haven’t replied.”

      “Who were they?”

      “Oh, I really can’t tell you now. It’s quite impossible. I remember that the call-office at Piccadilly Circus was one, and I think the one in the Minories.”

      “They were all call-offices – no private persons?”

      “I’m unable to say. I’ve been on duty for the past four hours, and have connected up thousands of numbers.”

      “Then you can’t tell me anything else?” I asked disappointedly.

      “No. I’m sorry I can’t,” replied the girl.

      I was about to place the receiver on its hook when a sudden thought occurred to me, and again I addressed her.

      “This matter is a most urgent one,” I said. “Can’t you ask at the call-office for a description of the man who has just been speaking?”

      “There’s no one there. It is merely an instrument placed in a passage leading to some offices,” was the reply.

      I hung up the receiver, and turning to Patterson repeated the conversation.

      “Extraordinary,” he ejaculated, when I had concluded. “We must keep that appointment. The inquiry is plain proof that murder has been committed, and further, that more