CHAPTER XII.
A HOUSE ON FIRE
Bob's phantom visitor and my faithful companion had no objection to the tiles, in which it may have found an endearing memory of old associations. Bob had fixed a couple of seats to the roof, where we sat and chatted and smoked, and enjoyed the usual prospect of chimney pots and attic windows. Sitting upon that height, accompanied by the spectral cat, reminded me in an odd way of one of Cruikshank's pictures, and I made an observation to this effect to Bob.
"It is rather weird," he said, "and especially in this light."
The sun had set, and in the skies we saw the reflection of the yellow glare from the shops of crowded neighborhoods. Our conversation was confined within narrow limits because of the one engrossing subject which occupied my mind, and as we had pretty well threshed that out, and there was nothing particularly new to say about it, we fell into occasional silences, which suited the mood I was in. During one of these silences I observed what appeared to be an unusual restlessness in the cat. Instead of sitting quietly at my feet it crept backward and forward, and at length paused at a little distance from me, with its face to the west. I described these movements to Bob, and remarked that it seemed to be expecting something.
"I wish with all my heart," was his reply, "that we could find some other subject to talk about than this wretched creature."
"I wish so, too; but I don't see how it is possible till it bids me farewell. I no longer possess a will of my own, but am led or driven as if I were a machine."
"Keep cool, Ned. I am not going to argue with you any more about the spiritual existence of your apparition. I accept it, and almost wish that it were as plain to my eyes as it is to yours. But what I want you to do, old fellow, while this visitation is upon you, is to keep cool. For less cause than you have, men have gone mad. That is an unusual glare in the sky; it can hardly be the reflection of gaslights."
He extended his hand to the west-the direction in which the spectral cat was looking.
"Do you see any connection," I asked, "between that glare and the attention which the apparition is bestowing upon it?"
"No," replied Bob.
"I do. That is the reflection of a house on fire."
As the words passed my lips the cat glided up to me, and I could almost have deluded myself into the belief that it plucked at my trousers. This, of course, from so unsubstantial and impalpable a figure could not have been; but it is certain that by its motion it made me understand that I must not remain idle on the roof of Bob's house-that there was a fire in the distance, and that I must go to it.
I obeyed the voiceless command.
"Come!" I said to Bob.
"Where to?"
"To the fire, in which my spectral friend is taking the greatest possible interest."
Bob shrugged his shoulders. "It must be a long way off."
"We shall find it. Come!"
There was no excitement in the immediate neighborhood as we walked along in the direction of the fire, being guided by the glare in the sky. A few persons turned their eyes upward, and, remarking that there was a fire somewhere, passed on. Their indifference arose from the circumstance that they were in no danger; I could not help reflecting upon the selfishness of human nature which causes men to look unmoved upon tragedies in which they themselves are not involved. Being anxious to reach the spot quickly I called a cab, which in half an hour conveyed us to the corner of Stanmore Street, West. This was as far as the driver could go, the street being deluged with water, and blocked with fire engines and firemen. It had been a serious conflagration while it lasted, but the efforts made by the brigade to confine it to the house in which it broke out were successful. This one building, however, was completely gutted, even in that short space of time, and the enthralling incident in connection with it which was upon every man's tongue was that a gentleman had perished in the flames. From the remarks that reached my ears I gathered that the house had been let out as chambers, and that when the fire arose there were no other persons in it except the housekeeper and the gentleman who lived on the first floor. The housekeeper was saved; the gentleman was burned to death.
As I stood pondering, Bob at my side, the spectral figure of the cat at my feet, Bob asked, "Well, Ned, where's the connection?"
"Wait," I replied, rather irritably.
A woman, supported by two female friends, passed us. She was crying, and wringing her hands, and I learned that she was the housekeeper who had been saved. Instinctively I followed her, and my visible and invisible companions accompanied me. It was not a difficult matter to elicit from the housekeeper all the information it was in her power to impart. The gentleman who had met with so untimely an end was a single man, with few friends and no relations.
"I don't think," said the housekeeper, "that he had a brother, or a sister, or a cousin in the world; leastways, so far as I know, no one ever came to see him who had any claim upon him. He was a quiet gentleman, and didn't give no trouble. What do you want to know, sir? Was he very rich? All I can say is he always paid his way, and always seemed to have plenty and to spare. His name? Mr. Alfred Warner, sir. Are you a friend of his?"
"No," I replied-for it was I who had asked the questions to which she had replied-"I was not acquainted with him."
"What name did she say?" asked Bob, in a whisper.
"Mr. Alfred Warner," I said.
Bob caught his breath, and said, "That's strange! It is the name of the gentleman who put into our hands No. 79 Lamb's Terrace."
"There is the connection, Bob," I said. "What do you say now to the spectral cat and its having urged us to come to this fire?"
"What can I say, except that it is most bewildering and mysterious?"
"Do you think I am still laboring under a delusion?"
"No, I do not."
"It was not without a motive," I said, "that I asked your nephew this evening whether he believed that a man who is not interested in something which, to make myself fairly clear, I called a crime, might receive a spiritual visitation which compelled him to take an active part in its discovery. His reply was that he did believe such a thing could be. I believe it, too, more than ever now, after this strange fire; and I believe, also, that there is a crime involved in it, and that I-whether by design or accident I will not pretend to say-shall be instrumental in its discovery. My memory does not deceive me, does it, Bob? You told me yesterday that the gentleman who has met his death in that fire, Mr. Alfred Warner, when he placed 79 Lamb's Terrace in your employer's hands to let, did not mention the name of his last tenant."
"Yes, I told you so," Bob answered, "and there seemed to be no reason why we should ask for it."
"So that it is probable," I continued, "that there is not a disinterested person in London to whom we could go to obtain the name of the last tenant."
"Not that I am aware of," said Bob.
I looked at my watch. It was ten o'clock. "If we went to your nephew's house, do you think we should find him up?"
"Very likely."
"I am going there, Bob. I have a question to ask him."
He put no opposition in my way. A kind of stupefaction appeared to have come over him. We drove to the residence of Ronald Elsdale, and found him up; his mother had gone to bed. As we entered his room, I observed again an uneasy expression flash into his face, and I saw his blind eyes turn toward the spectral cat.
"Only yourselves?" he inquired.
I left it to Bob to reply, and he said, "Only ourselves."
"It is very odd," said Ronald, "but I have the same impression that I had when I entered my uncle's room this evening, that there is somebody or something else present. It is useless trying to account for it." Then he asked, "Is there anything you wish to know?"
"It is a late hour to visit you," I said; "but I have a reason, which I cannot at present explain, for asking you where the young lady to whom you were attached lived when she was in London?"
He turned his troubled face toward his uncle, who said, "It is not an idle question, Ronald. I should like you to answer it."
"She may not have lived there all the time she was in London," said Ronald; "but I heard where it is supposed she met her death. It was in the Northwestern district-Lamb's Terrace, No. 79."
"Thank you," I said.
We wished him good-night, and left the house.
CHAPTER XIII.
I TAKE THE HAUNTED HOUSE
I was too much excited to go home by train, though I knew that my wife would be waiting up for me. I felt the need of physical motion; the idea of sitting down in a railway carriage, and being compelled to keep still because of the people with which at this time of night it was sure to be filled, was unendurable. The confinement and the close air would stifle me. The advantage of walking through streets more or less crowded is that you can be alone if you choose. Every person you meet or pass is so wrapt up in his own affairs that no notice is taken of you. You may wave your arms, flourish your stick or umbrella, mutter to yourself, even talk aloud, without attracting conspicuous attention. An idle fellow or two might think you eccentric-that is all. In a railway carriage or an omnibus such license and freedom are impossible; you cannot shift your seat without drawing all eyes upon you, in a certain sense you become the property of other passengers, who would be likely to regard you with alarmed suspicion, and would probably conclude that you were an escaped lunatic. In such circumstances you are deprived of the power of devoting yourself to the one absorbing subject which occupies your mind.
"I shall walk home," I said to Bob.
He nodded, as though he understood why at so late an hour I deliberately inflicted upon myself a good four mile tramp. For a quarter of that distance we proceeded in silence, and only then did it occur to me that Bob was coming out of his way. I made an observation to this effect.
"If you don't object to my company," he said, "I shall be glad to walk with you."
"What do you think of it all?" I asked.
"I don't know what to think," was his reply.
"No delusion, eh, Bob?" I said, in a tone of sarcastic triumph. "You will not hunt up any more cases of spectral illusions to prove that I am on the road to madness."
"No, Ned. Don't harp upon my lack of faith; the doubts I entertained were reasonable doubts after all. It is altogether a most awful mystery, but I accept it, and place myself at your service. Heaven only knows if I can be of any assistance to you, but it may be that even the renewal of our old friendship, and our coming together after a separation of forty years, are not due to chance. If so, I stand within the charmed circle."
"It was not by chance we met, Bob; in the smallest incident that has occurred in connection with that house-which I can see now with my mind's eye, dark, silent, spirit-haunted-I perceive the hand of fate. You can be of service to me."
"In what way?"
"I wish to take the house in Lamb's Terrace!"
A startled exclamation escaped his lips, but he said immediately afterward, as if in apology, "Yes, Ned, yes."
"I should say, rather, that I wish to have the refusal for a certain time of taking it for a term of years. This can be managed, I think, through you, and the death of your client may make it easier than it would otherwise have been. Say to your employer that I have not made up my mind whether it will suit me, and that I want a few weeks for consideration. Pending my decision, I will pay three months' rent, and at the expiration of that period, if I do not then take it for a term of years, it will be open to another tenant. I have no doubt that Mr. Gascoigne has some sort of provisional power in the matter, and that he will be glad of the chance there is in my offer of securing a permanent and responsible tenant. Will you undertake to carry this through?"
"Yes."
"Then you may as well walk all the way home with me, and I will write a check to-night, which you can give to Mr. Gascoigne in the morning. There is another thing which I must seriously consider. On the two occasions to-day when we and your nephew, and this specter of Fate gliding at my heels, were together, he was troubled by the fancy that I had brought some creature with me of which we made no mention. Is this new to you, or has your nephew expressed himself to a like effect on other occasions?"
"It is quite new to me. Ronald has never had such a fancy before."
"The natural conclusion, therefore, is that he was conscious of the presence of this apparition, without being able to define its nature. There is here a chain of psychological circumstances which would not be admissible in a court of law, but which I, with my strange experiences, cannot but believe to be of supreme importance. I have an odd impression upon me that the mysterious adventure in which I am engaged has lasted for some considerable time, whereas scarcely two days have elapsed since my introduction to beings of another world. I seem to be familiarized with mysterious incident, and I am so prepared that I doubt if anything would astonish me. Reflect, Bob, upon the links of a chain which is dragging me on, and which is not yet completely formed. Fate directs my steps, through the agency of my wife, to the office of Mr. Gascoigne; link number one. You, my old schoolfellow, whom I never thought to meet again, are employed in that office; link number two. My wife, against my wish, insists upon looking at a house to let in Lamb's Terrace, which I am certain will not suit us; link number three. These three links, to perfectly disinterested observers, would appear to be the result of the merest chance. We know that it is not so; we know that there is here at work a supernatural agency, every step in which is directed by an unseen power. You renew your old friendship with me, and accompany us home, and there you attempt to dissuade us from having anything to do with the house in Lamb's Terrace. Your kindly efforts are thrown away; link number four. You may ask me here how this seemingly trivial incident can be made into a link. My answer is that you are the uncle of Ronald Elsdale, and that when we left Mr. Gascoigne's office, had you not followed us and accepted my invitation to accompany us home, the natural probability is that I should not at the present moment have known of the existence of your nephew, who stands now a foremost stone in this monument of mystery. My wife and I visit the haunted house, and there we behold two apparitions, only one of which makes itself visible to her. I perceive two reasons for this. The first is, that she shall be so horrified by what she sees as to give up all idea of taking the house, and perhaps of ever going near it again. The second is, that I am the person appointed to carry this dark mystery to its as yet unknown end. The apparition of the girl and the cat form link number five. I visit your house this evening, and make the acquaintance of Ronald Elsdale; link number six. On this occasion, and on the occasion of my seeing him again in his own house an hour ago, he has a troubled consciousness of a spiritual presence-the presence of the specter now gliding at our feet; link number seven. The eighth link is fashioned from the circumstance that the young lady whom Ronald Elsdale loved and loves is said to have met her death in the house in Lamb's Terrace."
"You have reasoned all this out," said Bob, "in a most wonderful way."
"It is not I who reason it out. I am conscious of the extent of my own natural powers, and it would be impossible for me to bring forward these links and to logically connect them were I not spiritually directed. What is occupying my mind just now is the question whether I ought to take Ronald Elsdale into my confidence without waiting for further developments?"
Bob's reply was very humble. "Whatever you decide upon, Ned, will be right. The fatalist never doubts that the least incident in his life could have been otherwise than it is."
"Truly," I said, "I am in the position of a fatalist, and once a step is decided upon I shall not hesitate to take it, and shall not question its wisdom. By to-morrow morning the question will be answered for me."
My wife opened the street door for us.
"Why, who would have thought of seeing you, Mr. Millet!" she exclaimed. "But come in, come in; there's a bit of supper for you. Now, you two keeping together at this time of night shows what friends you must have been when you were boys. I hope you've had a pleasant evening."
"Rather an exciting one," I said. "We have been at a fire."
"A fire! Where?"
"In Stanmore Street; a long way from here."
"No one hurt, I hope?"
"An unfortunate gentleman lost his life in the fire. It is rather curious, Maria, that this gentleman should have been the owner of the house we looked over in Lamb's Terrace yesterday."
The news made her grave. "There is nothing but trouble connected with that dreadful place," she said. "But there, I don't want to think of it. I'd have given a good deal never to have set foot in it."
Before Bob left I wrote out the check for Mr. Gascoigne, and when I went to bed I was kept awake for a long time by thinking whether I ought to take Ronald Elsdale immediately into my confidence. I fell asleep with this question in my mind, and when I awoke in the morning I decided that it would be first advisable that I should ascertain some particulars of the last tenant, and of the death of the young lady, Beatrice. It was not an easy task I now set myself, and I felt that there was little chance of success, if I attempted it unaided. Desultory inquiries could lead to no satisfactory result, and I therefore determined to enlist the services of a private inquiry agent. Casting my mind over the most likely person to assist me, I recollected that a friend some years ago had need of the services of such a person, and had employed one Mr. Dickson, with good effect. Looking through the columns of a morning paper I saw Mr. Dickson's advertisement; and at eleven o'clock I set out for his office, which was situated in Arundel Street, Strand. On my doorstep I confronted a telegraph boy with a telegram for me. It was from Bob, and it ran as follows:
Arranged house, Lamb's Terrace; yours for three months.
My interview with Mr. Dickson was soon over. I explained to him what I wanted done, and he undertook the commission for a specified sum. It was arranged that he should give me his report in writing, and he promised to set about the inquiry without delay.
"Will it lead to anything further?" he asked.
"It is quite probable," I replied; "but at present this is all I require of you."
Two days afterward I received his report.
CHAPTER XIV.
A MEAGER REPORT FROM THE INQUIRY AGENT
"Sir: From inquiries I have made I am enabled to give you certain information respecting the matter you placed in my hands.
"The uncompleted term of the lease of the house, 79 Lamb's Terrace, was transferred, about nine years ago (not six or seven as you gave me to understand), to a gentleman of the name of Nisbet. At the time that this transfer was made the principal landlord was abroad-I believe in Australia-and his business affairs were in the hands of a firm of solicitors whose address I have not taken the trouble to ascertain, as it does not come within the limit of my instructions. Any information you wish upon this, or any other points which you did not mention in our interview, I shall be happy to obtain for you.
"Mr. Nisbet's family, at the time he entered into possession of 79 Lamb's Terrace consisted of himself and his stepdaughter Beatrice-he being her mother's second husband. Beatrice's mother died four months after her marriage with Mr. Nisbet, and by her will she left the bulk of her fortune to her daughter, and only a small portion of it to her husband. He was appointed guardian to Beatrice, and in the event of her death her fortune was to revert to him.
"Should you desire to become acquainted with the precise terms and phraseology of the will, you can do so at Somerset House.
"The young lady inherited £60,000 invested in consols. From the interest of this sum Mr. Nisbet was to receive £1000 a year for his guardianship of his stepdaughter; and £200 per annum was apportioned to the young lady for pin money. The remaining portion of the interest was to accumulate until the young lady was twenty-one years of age, when she was to come into possession of it and the original capital. I have glanced through the will, and it appears to be carefully and sensibly worded, and devoid of complications.
"According to my information, Mr. Nisbet was deeply affected by the death of his wife, and he sought consolation in foreign travel. The consequence was that he and his stepdaughter spent much of their time abroad, and the house in Lamb's Terrace was occupied but a few weeks every year. About four years ago they returned to London, with the intention, as I learn, of remaining here some time.
"Their domestic affairs, however, do not appear to have gone on smoothly; they had difficulties with servants, and after a while were left with only one, a young woman who, I should judge, was willing to make herself generally useful, and was rather more amiable than the majority of her class; otherwise she would not have remained. Keeping house under such circumstances presented few attractions, and they were contemplating taking up their permanent residence on the Continent when a calamity occurred which frustrated this intention and broke up the establishment.
"The young lady, going to bed, turned off the gas in her room, as she supposed, and went to sleep.
"Certain conjectures must be taken into account. If she had turned out the light and taken away her hand at once, there would have been no escape of gas. Whether, after the light was out, she carelessly or willfully turned on the tap again, or whether she got up in the night and did so, cannot be proved at this distance of time, because there was no witness of the incident with the exception of herself. Next morning she was found dead in her bed, having been suffocated by the fumes of the escaped gas.
"There was an inquest, and the evidence given of the cause of death was accepted as conclusive. Mr. Nisbet shut up the house in Lamb's Terrace, and left England. Having no instructions to ascertain where he is at the present time, I have made no inquiries.
"By the terms of his wife's will he came into possession of his stepdaughter's fortune.
"I inclose a newspaper, containing an account of the inquest, and I shall be happy to prosecute the inquiry in any further direction you desire.
"Yours obediently,"James Dickson."
Although this report was not so full as I expected it to be, I had no cause of complaint against Mr. Dickson. He had kept strictly within the limit of his instructions, which he had taken down in writing from my lips, and he had lost no time; I had, therefore, reason to be satisfied with him. I turned my attention to the account of the inquest.