without the other, unless a telegram arrived announcing aprotracted absence. Therefore I lit a cigarette, cast myself into thetrifle rickety but very comfortable armchair, and waited by the openwindow. I was just a trifle melancholy that evening, for there had comeback to me recollections of a love-bond long since severed, of a facewhich was once very dear to me. But I was a lonely bachelor now. Allwas of the past. Soon, however, as I sat thinking, I saw Cleughhurrying across the square, his silk hat, a trifle rusty, tilted at theback of his head, and a few moments later he burst merrily into theroom, saying--
"Sorry to keep you so long, old chap, but we brought out an extrato-night. There's a bit of a row down in Parliament." Then, calling toMrs. Joad, who was pottering in the "sink" beyond, he said, "Come along,mother. Look sharp with the horseflesh!"
We sat down and commenced our meal, while he, overflowing with spirits,told me how he had been out on an inquiry near to the _Welsh Harp_,spending a very pleasant afternoon there, and how he meant to "write itup" for the "mornings." The old instinct of the "liner" was still uponhim, and on his littered table he always kept his agate stylus and oiledtissue, known as "flimsy," his "blacks" and his square of tin whereon towrite. The sub-editors of the morning papers, the judges of next day'sintelligence, could always rely on Dick Cleugh's "stuff," therefore theyused it, and he profited at the rate of a penny farthing per line. Hewas, in brief, purveyor of sensations to the newspaper-reading public.
"I'm going to take Lil out to-night," my companion said betweenmouthfuls of steak, for he was ravenously hungry. "Smart girl, Lil."
"Yes," I answered. "She's really awfully nice. By Jove! old chap, Ienvy you."
The Mystery Man smiled contentedly with a piece of meat poisedgracefully on his fork, then he began humming the latest love-song whichthe barrel-organs had made popular, beating time with his fork, at thesame time placing his hand upon his heart in true operatic style.
This proceeding was, however, interrupted by the entrance of the Hagbearing a telegram for me. On opening it I found it contained only theone word "Come," signed by the initial "P."
I tossed it across to my companion without comment, and as I did so wassurprised to notice a strange, puzzled look upon his dark face.
He glanced at it, then handing it back to me, exclaimed--"Wonder what'sup at Kensington?"
"Something unusual, or Patterson wouldn't have wired," I said.
"You'll go, of course?"
"Yes. I'll just see what it looks like, and if there's anything in itI'll let you know."
"Well, old dawdler," he laughed, "if it's a good thing, leave a bit ofthe latest intelligence for me to pick up for my early editionto-morrow. To-night I can't disappoint Lily, you know. She's a goodgirl, and never worries."
"I'll tell you all about it when I come back; then you can write upsomething in readiness for to-morrow. If it's a mystery my people won'ttouch it, you know."
"Of course," he said. "Your staff is only paid to look pleasant."
The mysterious telegram had come from the police headquarters atKensington, an early intimation that something unusual had occurred. Inyears of reporting in London I had become friendly with many policeinspectors and detectives, and had long ago made arrangements with someof them whereby they would send me a wire by day, or a line byboy-messenger at night with information of the latest "sensation." Thereason why all were signed with initials was because such intimation wascontrary to the order of the Chief Commissioner.
I therefore left Dick sucking his foul briar, and, taking a motor-bus toKensington, entered the police-station, which stands back hidden in acourtyard opposite St. Mary Abbot's Church. In the charge-room, withits bare, grey-painted walls, its steel-railed dock for prisoners, itsloud-ticking clock, and its desk, whereon the oblong charge-book layopen, I found my old friend Inspector Patterson in earnest conversationwith two men of the working class, who spoke with a strong Cockneyaccent and addressed him familiarly as "guv'nor." They were evidentlypolicemen's noses, or, in criminal parlance, "narks."
"Good evening, Mr. Urwin," the inspector exclaimed, putting forth hisbig hand. He was a tall, fair-moustached, easy-going fellow, anexcellent officer, tender-hearted where the deserving poor wasconcerned, but harsh and unbending towards the habitual offender. Fromconstable, as I had first known him in the T or Hammersmith Division, hehad been moved to St. Luke's, to Paddington, to Leman Street and to BowStreet, until, owing to the marks which various magistrates had madeupon his charge sheets, he had now at last risen to the rank offirst-class inspector.
He was discreet in his every action, therefore he did not refer to thetelegram he had sent me lest any of the men should overhear, but when wehad chatted for a few moments he whispered--
"Go over to the bar at High Street Railway Station and wait there forme. I want to see you very particularly."
I nodded. Then, after some further conversation, I left him andwandered across to the refreshment room he had indicated.
CHAPTER TWO.
THE PENNY IN PAPER.
About twenty minutes elapsed before Patterson rejoined me, butexpressing a fear that we might be overheard there, we went forthtogether and strolled along High Street, until, coming to a quietturning which, I think, led past the workhouse, we strolled along it,and there he commenced his explanation.
"The fact is," he said in a nervous, hushed voice, "there's been a mostextraordinary occurrence here to-night. The mystery is the strangest inall my experience, and I've made inquiries into one or two in my time,as you know."
"Tell me all about it," I said, my curiosity whetted.
"I wish I could, my dear fellow," he answered.
"I mean, tell me all the known facts."
"Nothing is known--save the discovery," he replied. "As soon as itbecame known I wired to you. When the papers get hold of it, it willmake the greatest sensation ever known in London."
"Well, that's saying a good deal," I remarked. "Who made thediscovery?"
"I did," he answered, adding quickly, "but don't mention me, or thesuperintendent may suspect me of giving you information. He already hasa suspicion that I'm a bit too friendly with you gentlemen of the press.A contravention of the Commissioner's orders against giving informationto the papers might get me carpeted up at the Yard, you know."
"And the discovery?" I asked impatiently. "What's its nature?"
"Most astounding," he replied, with a bewildered look. "I'm a policeofficer, Urwin," he added hoarsely, "and I'm not often unnerved. Butto-night, by Jove! I'm upset--altogether upset. The whole affair is sodevilish uncanny and unnatural."
"Tell me the story," I urged. "If it is so strange the evening paperswill have a good time to-morrow."
"No, no," he cried in quick alarm. "You must publish nothing yet--nothing. You understand that I give you these facts only on conditionthat you promise not to publish any thing until I give you permission.You alone will know of it. We must preserve the utmost secrecy. Not aword must leak out yet. You understand in what an awkward position youwould place me were you to publish anything of this affair."
"Of course. I promise you to keep the matter a strict secret," Ianswered. "There are many cases in which the publication of the detailsof a crime might defeat the efforts of the police, and this I supposedto be one of them."
"Well," he said, "I made the discovery in a most curious manner. Justbefore seven o'clock this evening, just as it was growing dark, I wasreturning to the station after visiting the `fixed-point' at the cornerof Earl's Court Road. You know the spot--just opposite Holland Park."
I nodded. I knew that particular street-corner where Earl's Court Roadjoined Kensington Road quite well.
"I had previously been my usual round through Campden Hill Road andHolland Walk, and was strolling back along the main Kensington Road,past that terrace of houses Upper Phillimore Place, when my attentionwas suddenly arrested by seeing on the steps leading from the pavementup to the front garden of one of the
houses a small object moving. Itwas inside the gate, and in the dim half-light I bent to examine it.What do you think it was?"
"Don't know," I replied. "Don't ask riddles--describe facts."
"Well, it was the very last thing one would dream of finding on a Londondoorstep--a small, strangely-marked snake."
"A snake!" I echoed. "You didn't arrest it for being found withoutvisible means of subsistence, I