Loe raamatut: «Devlin the Barber», lehekülg 13

CHAPTER XXIX

THE RESCUE

So startled was I by this revelation that I jumped to my feet in a state of uncontrollable agitation. What I should have done I cannot say, but the direction of events was not left in my hands. Simultaneously with my movement of astonishment, a piercing scream rang through the house.

I was standing now by the chair in which Mr. Kenneth Dowsett was sitting in his trance, and I observed a change pass over his face; the scream had pierced the veil in which his waking senses were enshrouded. Devlin also observed this change, and he said to me hurriedly:

"Go up-stairs and see what is taking place. Your presence may be needed there, and to one person may be very welcome. I will keep charge over this man."

As I left the room I heard Devlin turn the key in the lock. Rapidly I mounted the stairs, and dashed into a room on the first landing, from which the sound of female voices were issuing. Three women were there; two were strangers to me, but even in that agitating moment I correctly divined that they were Mrs. Dowsett and Letitia; the third, who rushed with convulsive sobs into my open arms, was no other than Lizzie Melladew herself.

"O, thank God, you have come!" she sobbed; "thank God! thank God! Where is Mary? Where is Richard? Take me to them! O, take me to them!"

Mrs. Dowsett was the first to recover herself. "You will remain here," she said sternly to Lizzie; and then, addressing me, "How dare you break into my apartment in this manner?"

"I dare do more than that," I replied, in a voice sterner than her own, and holding the weeping girl close to my heart. "Prepare you to answer for what has been done. I thank God, indeed, that I have arrived in time, perhaps, to prevent another crime. All is discovered."

At these words Mrs. Dowsett shrank back, white and trembling. I did not stop to say more. My first duty was to place Lizzie Melladew in safety; but where? The mental question conveyed its own answer. Where, but in her lover's arms?

"Come," I said to Lizzie. "You are safe now. I am going to take you to Richard Carton. Trust yourself to me."

"I will, I will!" sobbed Lizzie, "Richard is here, then? How thankful I am, how thankful! And Mary, my dear sister, is she here, too?"

I was appalled at this last question. It proved that Lizzie was ignorant of what had occurred. Not daring to answer her, I drew her from the room, and the women I left there made no attempt to prevent me. Swiftly I took my precious charge from the house, and in a very few minutes we were in the carriage which was waiting for me at the foot of the Rue de la Paix. The driver understood the direction I gave him, and we galloped at full speed to the Hotel de Poilly. Without revealing to Lizzie what I knew, I learnt from her before we reached the hotel sufficient to enlighten me as to Mr. Kenneth Dowsett's proceedings, and to confirm my suspicion that it was Mary Melladew who had met her death at that villain's hands. When Lizzie received the anonymous letter which he wrote to her, she took it to her poor sister, who, fearing some plot, prevailed upon her to let her see the anonymous writer in Lizzie's place; and, the better to carry out the plan, the sisters changed dresses, and went together to Victoria Park. Being twins, and bearing so close a resemblance to each other, there was little fear of the change being discovered until at least Mary had ascertained why the meeting was so urgently desired. Leaving Lizzie in a secluded part of the park, Mary proceeded to the rendezvous, with what result Mr. Dowsett's confession has already made clear. Discovering the fatal error he had committed, Mr. Dowsett returned to Lizzie, who, while waiting for her sister, had fallen asleep. Being thoroughly unnerved, he decided that there was only one means of safety before him-flight and the concealment of Lizzie Melladew. The idea of a second murder may have occurred to him, but, villain as he was, he had not the courage to carry it out. He had taken from the dead girl's pocket everything it contained, with the exception of a handkerchief which, in his haste, he overlooked; and upon this handkerchief was marked the name of Lizzie Melladew. He could imitate Richard Carton's writing-as was proved by the forgeries he had already committed-and upon the back of this anonymous letter he wrote in pencil a few words in which Lizzie was implored to trust herself implicitly to Mr. Dowsett, and without question to do as he directed. Signing these words in Richard Carton's name, he awoke Lizzie and gave her the note. Alarmed and agitated as the young girl was, and fearing that some great danger threatened her lover, she, with very little hesitation, allowed herself to be persuaded by Mr. Dowsett, and accompanied him home. "Where is Mary?" she asked. "With our dear Richard," replied Mr. Dowsett; "we shall see them to-morrow, when all will be explained." At home Mr. Dowsett informed his wife of his peril, and the three females left for Margate by an early train in the morning. In Margate Mrs. Dowsett received telegrams signed "Richard Carton," but really sent by her husband, which she showed to Lizzie, and which served in some measure to assist the successful continuation of the scheme by which Lizzie was to be taken out of the country. Meanwhile she was in absolute ignorance of her sister's fate; no newspaper was allowed to reach her hands, nor was she allowed to speak to a soul but Mrs. Dowsett and Letitia. What was eventually to be done with her I cannot say; probably Mr. Dowsett himself had not been able to make up his mind, which was almost entirely occupied by considerations for his own safety.

I did not, of course, learn all this from Lizzie, she being then ignorant of much which I have related, but I have put together what she told me and what I subsequently learnt from Devlin and other sources.

Arriving at the Hotel de Poilly, I succeeded in conveying Lizzie into a private room, and then I sought Richard Carton. I need not set down here in detail the conversation I had with him. Little by little I made him acquainted with the whole truth. Needless to describe his joy when he heard that his beloved girl was alive and safe-joy, tempered with grief at poor Mary's fate. When he was calm enough to be practical, he asked me what was to be done.

"No time must be lost," I said, "in restoring your dear Lizzie to her parents. To you I shall confide her. Leave that monster, your treacherous guardian, to Devlin and me."

It was with difficulty I restrained him from rushing to Lizzie, but I insisted that his movements must be definitely decided upon before he saw her. I called in the assistance of the jolly landlady, and she supplied me with a time-table, from which I ascertained that a boat for Dover left at 12.31, and that it was timed to reach its destination at 3.20. There were numerous trains from Dover to London, and Lizzie would be in her parents' arms before night. Carton joyfully acquiesced in this arrangement, and then I took him in to his dear girl, and, closing the door upon them, left them to themselves. A meeting such as theirs, and under such circumstances, was sacred.

While they were together I wrote two letters-one to my wife, and the other to Mr. Portland-which I intended should be delivered by Carton. I did not intrude upon the happy lovers till the last moment. I found them sitting close together, quite silent, hand clasped in hand, her head upon his breast. I had cautioned him to say nothing of Mary's sad fate, and I saw by the expression upon Lizzie's face that he had obeyed me. After joy would come sorrow; there was time enough for that. Mary had given her life for her sister's; the sacrifice would ever be held in sacred remembrance.

I saw them off by the boat; they waved their handkerchiefs to me, and I thought of the Melladews mourning at home, to whom, at least, one dear child would soon be restored. When the boat was out of sight, I jumped into the carriage, and was driven back to the Rue de la Paix.

CHAPTER XXX

DEVLIN'S LAST SCHEME

I tried the door of the room in which I had left Devlin and Mr. Kenneth Dowsett. It was locked.

"Enter," said Devlin, unlocking the door.

They were both in the room, Devlin smiling and unruffled, Mr. Dowsett in the full possession of his senses, and terribly ill at ease.

He turned like death when he saw me.

"This gentleman," said Devlin, "is angry at being detained by me, and would have resorted to violence if he thought it would serve his purpose. I have waited for your return to decide what to do."

"You shall pay for this," Mr. Dowsett managed to say, "you and your confederate. If there is justice in this world, I will make you smart for your unlawful proceedings."

"There is justice in the world," I said calmly, "as you shall find."

He was silent. With a weight of guilt upon his soul, he did not know how to reply to this remark. But he managed presently to ask:

"How long do you intend to detain me?"

"You shall know soon," I said; and, by a gesture, I intimated to Devlin that I wished to confer with him alone.

He accompanied me from the room, and we stood in the passage, keeping guard upon the door, which Devlin locked from the outside.

"There are no means of escape from within," he said. "I have seen to that."

In a low tone I told him what I had done, and he approved.

"The question now is," I said, "what step are we next to take?"

"There lies the difficulty," replied Devlin. "You see my dear sir, we have no evidence upon which to arrest him."

"No evidence!" I cried. "Is there not his own confession of guilt?"

Devlin shook his head. "Spiritual evidence only, my dear sir. Not admissible in any court of law in the world. Impossible to obtain his arrest in a foreign country upon such a slender thread. He might bring the same accusation against us, and we might all be thrown into gaol, and kept there for months. That is not what I bargained for. Our best plan will be to get him back to England; then you can take some practicable step."

"But how to manage that?" I asked.

"It can be managed, I think," said Devlin. "I have a scheme. He knows nothing of the confession he has made. Lizzie Melladew's name has not been mentioned between us. It is only his fears and my strength of will that make him tractable. Before I put my scheme into operation, go up-stairs to see if his wife and daughter are in the house. I have my suspicions that they have flown. You will find me here when you come down."

I ran up-stairs to the apartments occupied by Mrs. Dowsett. Devlin's suspicions were confirmed. The two women were gone. There were evidences around of a hasty flight, the most pregnant of them being a small box which had been broken open. I judged immediately that this was the box which had contained the two thousand sovereigns; and, indeed, I found two of the sovereigns under a couch, whither they had rolled while the bulk was being taken out. The conclusion I came to was, that the women, frightened that all was discovered, as I had informed them, had broken open the box, and, packing the gold away upon their persons, had taken to flight, leaving Mr. Dowsett to his fate.

I went down to Devlin, and acquainted him with the result of my investigation.

"Quite as I expected," he said. "Let them go for the present. Our concern is with the man inside. I am going to put my scheme into operation. What is the time?"

"Five minutes past two," I replied, looking at my watch.

"In capital time," said Devlin. "Wait you here until half-past two. Then go in to Mr. Dowsett, and apologise to him for the indignity to which he has been subjected. He will fume and threaten; let him. Be you humble and contrite, and say that you are very, very sorry. Throw all the blame upon me: say that I have deceived you, imposed upon you, robbed you-anything that comes to your mind. To me it matters not; it will assist our scheme. There is no fear of Mr. Dowsett not waiting till you go in to him; he is frightened out of his life. Your humble attitude will give him courage; he will think himself safe."

"I cannot imagine," I said, "how this will help us."

"Don't imagine," said Devlin curtly. "Leave all to me. The first thing Mr. Dowsett will do when he finds himself free will be to go up to the rooms in which he left the three women who accompanied him here. Meanwhile, you will keep watch outside the house; but on no account must he see you. Trust to me for the rest."

He had served me so faithfully up to this point that I trusted him unhesitatingly. As he had prophesied, Mr. Dowsett kept quiet within the room. Listening at the door, I heard him moving softly about, but he made no attempt to come out. At half-past two I entered the room, and followed Devlin's instructions to the letter. Mr. Dowsett, his courage restored, immediately began to bluster and threaten. I listened submissively, and made pretence of being greatly distressed. When he had exhausted himself, I left him with further profuse expressions of regret, and as I issued from the house I saw him mounting the stairs to his wife's apartments.

Emerging into the Rue de la Paix, I planted myself in a spot from which I had a clear view of the house, and was myself concealed from observation. Scarcely was I settled in my position when I saw a man, with a telegram in his hand, enter the house. He remained there a very few moments, and then came out and walked away, having, presumably, delivered his message. Within a space of five minutes, Mr. Dowsett, holding the telegram, came forth, and, casting sharp glances around, quickly left the Rue de la Paix. Before he had turned the corner, Devlin joined me, humming a French song. Together we followed Mr. Dowsett at a safe distance.

"My scheme is alive," he said.

I asked him to explain it to me.

"You saw the messenger," he said, "enter with a telegram. You saw him leave without it. You saw Mr. Dowsett come out with the telegram. It was from his wife."

"From his wife?"

"Sent by me. The telegram was to the effect that something had occurred which had induced her to leave Boulogne immediately, and that she, her daughter, and the young lady with them (I was careful not to mention her name, you see) would be in Ramsgate, waiting for him. He was to come by the afternoon boat, and she would meet him on the pier. See, he is entering the shipping-office now, to secure his passage."

"What are we to do?"

"We travel in the same boat, going aboard at the last moment. After the boat has started-not before-he will know that we are fellow-passengers."

All happened as Devlin had arranged. By his skilful pioneering we did not lose sight of Mr. Dowsett until he stepped aboard the boat, and I inferred from his manner that by that time he had regained confidence, and deemed his secret safe. When we slipped on deck, at the very moment of starting, Mr. Dowsett was below in the saloon.

There were not many passengers, and the French coast was still in view when Mr. Dowsett came up from the saloon and stood by the bulwarks, within a yard or two of the seat upon which we were sitting. We did not speak, but sat watching him. Turning, he saw us.

"You here!" he cried.

"By your leave," I replied.

"Not by my leave," he said. "Why are you following me?"

"Have you any reason," I said, "for suspecting that you are being followed?"

"I was a fool to ask the question," he said, turning abruptly away.

I did not speak, but kept my eyes upon him. I was determined not to lose sight of him for another moment. Some understanding of this determination seemed to dawn upon him; he looked at me two or three times with wavering eyes, and presently, summoning all his courage to his aid, he stared me full in the face. I met his gaze sternly, unflinchingly, until I compelled him to lower his eyes. Then he suddenly went down into the saloon. I stepped swiftly after him, and Devlin accompanied me. For the purpose of testing me, he turned and ascended again to the deck. We followed him.

"Perhaps," he said, "you will explain what you mean by this conduct?"

"What need to ask?" I replied. "Let your conscience answer."

"It is an outrage," he said, after a pause. "If you continue to annoy me, I shall appeal to the captain."

"Do so," I said, "and prepare to meet at once the charge I shall bring against you."

He did not dare to inquire the nature of the charge. He did not dare to move or speak again. Sullenly, and with an inward raging, the traces of which he could not disguise, he remained by the bulwarks, staring down at the water.

Suddenly there was a lull aboard. The machinery stopped working.

"Some accident," said Devlin, and went to ascertain its nature. Returning, he said, "We shall be delayed a couple of hours, most likely. It will be dark night, when we arrive."

It was as he said. For two hours or more we made no progress; then, the necessary repairs having been made, we started again. By that time it was evening. And still Mr. Dowsett neither moved or spoke.

Night crept on; there was no moon, and not a star visible in the dark sky; it was black night. Mr. Dowsett strove to take advantage of this to evade and escape from us, but we kept so close to him that we could have touched him by the movement of a finger; where he glided, we glided; and still he uttered not a word.

We stood in a group alone, isolated as it were, from the other passengers. After repeated attempts to slip from us, Mr. Dowsett remained still again. In the midst of the darkness Devlin's voice stole upon our ears.

"Short-sighted fool," he said, "to think that crime can be for ever successfully hidden. Wherever man moves, the spirit of committed evil accompanies him, and leads him to his doom. His peril lies not only in mortal insight, but in the unseen, mysterious agencies, by which he is surrounded. Blood for blood; it is the immutable law; and if by some human failure he for a time evades his punishment at the hand of man, he suffers a punishment more terrible than human justice can execute upon him. Waking or sleeping, it is ever with him. Look out upon the darkness, and behold, rising from the shadows, the form of the innocent girl whose life you took. To the last moment of your life her spirit shall accompany you; till death claims you, you shall know no peace!"

Whatever of malignancy there was in Devlin's voice, the words he spoke conveyed the stern, eternal truth. It seemed to me, as I gazed before me, that the spirit he evoked loomed sadly among the shadows.

Onward through the sea the boat ploughed its way, and we three stood close together, encompassed by a dread and awful silence; for Devlin spoke no more, nor from Mr. Dowsett's lips did any sound issue.

In the distance we saw the lights of Ramsgate Pier, and before the captain or any person on board was aware of its close contiguity, we suddenly dashed against it.

I and all others on board were thrown violently down by the shock. There were loud cries of alarm and agony, and I found myself separated from my companions. From the water came appeals for help from some who had been tossed overboard by the collision, and a period of great confusion ensued. What help could be given was afforded, and when I succeeded in reaching the stone pier in safety, I heard that a few of the passengers were missing-among them Devlin and Mr. Dowsett.

I remained on the pier till past one o'clock in the morning, rendering what little assistance I could; and eventually I learnt that all who had been in danger were saved, with the exception of the two whom I have named. It was early morning before the body of one was recovered. That one was Mr. Kenneth Dowsett. He lay dead in a boat, his face convulsed with agony, upturned to the gray light of the coming day. Of Devlin no trace could be found.

******

There is but little more to tell. With the exception of the part which Devlin played in it, and which has now for the first time been related, the story became public property, and Kenneth Dowsett was proved to be the murderer of poor Mary Melladew. Time has softened the grief of Mr. and Mrs. Melladew, and they find in the love of Lizzie and her husband, Richard Carton, some solace for the tragedy which a ruthless hand committed. Mr. Portland paid me the two thousand pounds he promised, and I am in a fair way of business. Fanny Lemon and her husband live in retirement in the country. Not a word ever passes their lips in connection with the events I have related. I have seen and heard nothing of Mrs. Dowsett and her daughter.

******

A short time ago my wife and I were in an open-air public place of amusement witnessing a wonderful exhibition, the extraordinary novelty of which consisted in a man floating earthwards from the clouds at a distance of some thousands of feet from the earth.

"Look there!" said my wife.

I had given her such faithful and vivid descriptions of Devlin that she always said, if it happened that he still lived and she saw him, that she could not fail to recognise him. I turned in the direction she indicated, and, standing alone, apart from the crowd, once more saw Devlin. He was watching the performer floating from heaven to earth. There was a strange smile upon his lips.

I could not restrain the impulse which prompted me to move towards him. My approach attracted his attention. He looked at me, and was gone. I have never seen him since.

The last words I heard him speak recur to me. There was in them the spirit of Divine justice. Crimes cannot be for ever successfully hidden. The monsters who commit them shall be brought to their doom by those whose duty it is to track them down, or by unseen mysterious agencies by which they are surrounded, or by their own confession.

But let the legislators see to it; let those who call themselves philanthropists and humanitarians see to it; let those whose fortune it is to possess great wealth see to it. There are in this modern Babylon fester-spots of corruption wherein nothing but sin and vice can possibly grow. They are crowded with human beings ripening for evil; they are crowded with human souls lost to salvation. They are an infamy-and the infamy rests not upon the creatures who are born and bred there, but upon those who allow them to be, and who have the undoubted power to cleanse them, and make them healthy for body and soul. For generation upon generation have they been allowed to breed corruption; to this day they are allowed to do so. All who have the remedy in their hands are responsible. The preacher who preaches and does not practise; the rich who can afford, but grudges to give; the statesman with his dilettante efforts towards social improvement, and his huge efforts towards place and power-one and all of these are accountable for the sin. It is no less, and it rests upon them.

THE END