heavens!" gasped Patterson, his eyes riveted on the spot. "Lookthere! Look at that glass case! There are snakes in it!"
I sprang away, and looking in the direction he indicated saw that aglass case, standing on the ground, contained two great snakes withbeautiful markings of yellow and black. Even as I looked they werecoiled, with their flat heads erect and their bead-like eyes shininglike tiny stars in the shadow, their bodies half-hidden in a blanket.
"Nice kind of pets, to keep in a house," observed Patterson. "That'sone of them that's escaped into the garden, I expect."
"I quite agree," I said, "this place is decidedly the reverse ofcheerful. Hadn't we better report at once? There's been a mysterioustragedy here, and immediate efforts should be made to trace theassassin."
"But, my dear fellow, how do you know they've been murdered?" he argued."There's no marks of violence whatever."
"Not as far as we've been able to discover. A doctor can tell us moreafter the post-mortem," I responded.
There were many very strange features connected with this remarkablediscovery. My friend's reluctance to commence an investigation, hisfirm resolve not to report the discovery, the mysterious voice at thetelephone, the fact that some experimental scientist had his laboratoryin that house, and the revelation of the unaccountable tragedy itself,were all so extraordinary that I stood utterly bewildered.
Absolutely nothing remained to show who were the pair lying dead, and noexplanation seemed possible of that strange red light burning there sosteadily, and unflickering. By the appearance of the glass, and thedust in the oil, the tiny lamp must have burned on incessantly for avery long time.
Strange it was that there, within a few yards of one of London's greatarteries of traffic, that charming woman and her companion should havebeen cut off swiftly and suddenly, without a hand being stretched forthto save them.
In company we went downstairs, leaving the light in the laboratory stillburning, and re-entered the drawing-room to take a final glance around.As I approached the prostrate body of the man I felt something beneathmy foot, and glancing down saw that some coppers had evidently fallenfrom his pocket and were lying strewn about the carpet. Then, havingremained a few minutes longer, we both went out by the door we hadentered, locking it and taking the key.
"We must report it, Patterson," I said. "It certainly has some queerand very extraordinary features."
"Yes," he responded; adding slowly, "did you notice anything strange upin that top room where the chemicals and things were?"
"Yes, a good deal," I answered. "It isn't every one who keeps snakes aspets."
"I don't mean that," he answered. "But did you notice on the table aglassful of liquid, like water?"
"Yes."
"Well, that stuff was bubbling and boiling without any heat beneath."
"Perhaps the man who experiments there is a conjurer," I suggested,smiling at his surprise at seeing liquid boil when exposed to air.Police-officers know little of any other science save that ofself-defence.
"Now," he said seriously, as we strode forward together in the directionof Kensington Church, "you must go to the station and report thediscovery as if made by you--you understand. Remember, the snakeattracted your attention, you entered, found the man and woman lyingdead, lit the gas, searched the house, then left to get assistance, andmet me."
"That's all very well," I answered. "But you forget that you borrowedthat lamp from one of your own men, and that I called on you first."
"Ah!" he gasped; turning slightly pale. "I never thought of that!"
"Why don't you report it yourself?" I urged.
"For superstitious reasons," he laughed nervously.
"Hang superstition!" I cried. Adding: "Of course, I'll report it ifyou like, but it would be far better for you to do so and risk thismysterious bad luck that you fear."
He was silent for a moment, thinking deeply, then answered in a strange,hard voice,--
"Perhaps you're right, Urwin. I--I'm a confounded fool to be afraid,"and with an effort quite apparent he braced himself up and we enteredthe police-station. Ascending the stairs we were soon closeted withOctavius Boyd, inspector of the Criminal Investigation Departmentattached to that Division, a middle-aged, dark-bearded, pleasant-facedman in plain-clothes, who, as soon as he heard our story, wasimmediately ready to accompany us, while five minutes later the clickingof the telegraph told that news of our discovery was being transmittedto headquarters at New Scotland Yard.
Patterson took down the _London Directory_, and turning it up at UpperPhillimore Place, found that the occupier of the house in question wasAndrew Callender. He made inquiries in the section-house of the men offduty as to what was known of that house, but only one constable made astatement, and it was to the effect that he had, when on duty inKensington Road, seen a youngish lady with fair hair, whose descriptiontallied with that of the dead woman, come out and go across to the shopson the opposite side of the road.
"Do you know anything of the servants?" inquired Patterson.
"Well, sir," the man answered, "one was a man, and the other a woman."
"How do you know?"
"Because the servant of the house next door told me so. The woman wasthe cook, and the man did the housework. She said that the house was amost mysterious one."
"Is she there now?" my friend asked.
"No, sir. She was discharged a fortnight ago. Dishonest, I think."
"And you don't know where she is?"
Boyd had by this time called one of his plain-clothes men, who hadobtained lamps, turning the dark slides over the flame, thestation-sergeant had carefully ruled a line and written something inthat remarkable register kept in every London police-station, wherein isrecorded every event which transpires in the district, from a tragedy tothe return of the sub-divisional inspector from his rounds, or thegrooming of the horses. Then, after a short conversation with one ofthe second-class inspectors, we all four, accompanied by a sergeant,started for Upper Phillimore Place.
In order not to attract attention we separated. Patterson walking withme to the opposite side of the road, while the detectives walkedtogether, and the sergeant alone. Little did the passers-by suspectwhen they saw Patterson and me strolling leisurely along that we were onour way to investigate what afterwards proved to be one of the strangestand most remarkable mysteries that had ever puzzled the MetropolitanPolice.
CHAPTER FOUR.
THE THREE CARDS.
On reaching the house, Boyd, an expert officer who had spent years inthe investigation of crime, ascended with his subordinate to thedrawing-room, while we remained on the ground floor to complete oursearch, the sergeant being stationed inside the hall.
Our further investigations were not very fruitful. The fact that dinnerwas laid for three indicated that a third person had been present, orwas expected. The room did not differ from any other, except that itwas perhaps better furnished than one would have expected in such ahouse, for although in a first-class and rather expensive neighbourhoodthe row of houses had declined in popularity of late years, and was nowinhabited mostly by the lodging-house fraternity.
In moving about the room, however, my coat caught the plate laid for theperson who was to occupy the head of the table, and it was nearly sweptoff. I saved it, however, but beneath was revealed a plain white cardwhich, until that moment, had been concealed. Patterson caught sight ofit at the same moment, and taking it in my hand I examined it, findingthat it was a plain visiting card of lady's size, one side being blank,and other bearing a roughly-drawn circle in ink.
There was nothing else.
"That's certainly curious," my companion remarked, looking over myshoulder.
"Yes," I said, lifting a second plate to see what was there concealed,and finding another card, in all appearances similar, plain, but bearingacross its reverse a single straight line drawn with a pen.
"By Jove!" observed Patterson, lifting the other plate, and finding athird card, "this is ce
rtainly very strange."
He turned the card over, but it was blank on both sides.
"I wonder what game is this, or whether these have any connexion withthe crime?" I exclaimed, holding all three of the cards in my hand,turning them over and examining them carefully beneath the light. "Bythe ink they have the appearance of having been prepared long ago.See!" I added, holding one of them towards him, "the corners of thisone are slightly turned up and soiled. It has been carried in someone's pocket, and is not a fresh card."
Again Patterson took it and examined it. It was the one with the linedrawn across it. The others were quite clean, as if just taken