XXI
MILLE-FLEURS
The complications which had surrounded Leighton Gillespie were,through his own imprudence, in the way of being cleared up, thoughhardly to his advantage. This was not all. Either from indifference orignorance--I hardly thought it was indifference--he had not onlycalled attention to his own secret passion, but laid such a trap forthe object of it that she could hardly fail to fall ultimately intothe hands of the police.
Under these circumstances was it my duty to proceed with the task Ihad imposed upon myself? Was my help needed when Mr. Gryce'sright-hand man was at work? It would not seem so. But--as I was happyenough to remember before my hesitation resolved itself intoaction--the one clue connecting him to this murder was to be found inmy hands, not theirs. I alone knew where to look for the woman who hadprocured him the phial of poison. This in itself created an obligationI dared not slight. I must continue my quest, if I desired to fulfilmy promise to Hope Meredith.
The day was Friday and the fish-stalls were doing a lively business.By the time I had threaded my way through innumerable sheds, I had gotenough of this commodity into my nostrils to satisfy my appetite fora week. I was glad when I stepped out upon the wharf.
"Is it along there you want to go?" asked the officer under whoseprotection I moved.
I looked, and saw fluttering before me the calico curtain which hadblown in and out of Yox's story.
"Yes, if it's where an old woman named Merry is to be found."
"I'll ask."
He approached a brother officer whose presence I had not noticed,spoke to him, and came back.
"That's the place," said he. "Do you want me to go in with you?"
"Not if it's safe."
"Oh, it's safe enough at this hour. You haven't any too much cash onyou, I judge? Besides, I'll hang about the door, and if you don't comeout in ten minutes I'll just inquire the reason why. You see, theplace's on our books and we don't want to keep too open an eye on it."
I was glad to be allowed to go in alone. I had not dared to hope forthis and felt correspondingly relieved.
An unexpectedly quiet interior met my eye. The bare walls, the busystove, the woman whose gaunt frame and lowering eye I had hearddescribed by Yox, were before me, but nothing of a sinister, or evensuspicious, appearance. I had surprised Mother Merry's quarters at ahappy hour; that is, happy for her and possibly so for me.
But perhaps I convey a wrong impression in speaking of the walls asbare. They were not so; for, stretched from side to side of thesteam-reeking, stifling room, were lines on which coarse garments werehanging up to dry; and on the wall directly before me I saw a pair ofrough seaman's breeches, pinned up in a ghostly and grotesque fashionover the little stove which even on this mild afternoon was doing itsbest to keep out undesirable visitors.
The old woman, who was bending over a table on which a few broken victualslay, was, without doubt, Mother Merry herself; and, recognizing her assuch, I assumed the half-audacious, half-deprecatory manner I thought bestcalculated to impress her. With a broad smile, I thrust my hand into mypocket. Then as I perceived her hard eye melt and the coarse lines abouther mouth twist into something which was as near encouragement as onecould expect from a being always on her guard against strangers, Iwhispered with a careful look about me:
"Anyone here? My errand won't stand peering eyes or listening ears."
She gave me a penetrating glance.
"What do you want?" she grumbled.
I took out a dollar and laid it on the table. Her hand was over it inan instant.
"A morsel of drug," I whispered. "Three drops of something that'll doup a man in five minutes. The man is myself," I added, as her eyedarkened.
She continued to regard me intently for a minute; then cast a quickglance down at the hand which covered the coin.
"Sorry," she muttered, with a reluctant lift of that member; "but I'mnot in the way of getting any such stuff. Who sent you to me?"
I hesitated, then made my great venture.
"The man you helped out of here the night the police came down on you.He had better luck than I. You didn't refuse it to him."
"You lie!" she cried.
Startled by these uncompromising words, I fell back. Had I made agreat mistake?
"He never got any such stuff from me," she went on shrilly. "Thatwasn't what he came for, or else he made more of a fool of me than Iknew."
"What did he come for?"
Her look of inquiry turned into one of suspicion.
"Did you come here to ask that? If so, you'd better go. I'm not one ofthe blabbing sort."
I drew out another dollar.
"Perhaps he got it upstairs," I insinuated.
"Oh!" she cried, spreading out her long fingers so as to cover bothpieces. "That may be; those girls have strange ways with them."
"May I have a peep at them? May I have a peep at _her_?"
The emphasis I placed on the last word called out from Mother Merry along stare, which I bore as best I could.
"She hasn't a drop left of what you were talking about," said MotherMerry at last. "If she gave it to him it's all gone."
"Perhaps she can get more where she got that," I made bold tosuggest.
The old hag gave a grunt and looked gloatingly at the coins sparklingbetween her bony fingers.
"How many of these have you saved up?" she asked.
"Ten."
"And with ten dollars in your pocket you come here for _poison_?"
Her amazement was quite real. Ten dollars in my pocket and wantingpoison! It took her some minutes to grasp the fact; then she said:
"And how many of these are for _me_?"
"Five."
She pawed at the coins till they were well under her palm.
"I'll call her down; will that do?"
"Yes."
"She may not be just right."
"No matter."
"She may be all right herself and not think you so."
"I'll risk that, too."
"Then stand near the stove so she won't see you when she first comesin. She wouldn't stay a minute if she did."
Obeying the old hag, I watched her sidle to the door already familiarto me in Yox's narrative; the door upstairs, I mean. As shedisappeared behind it I glanced at the table near which she had beenstanding. The two silver dollars were gone.
"I'll never see them again," was my inward decision.
And I never did.
The presence of the wet clothing hanging so near me was anything butagreeable. Moving around to the other side of the stove, I at leastavoided some of the fumes which in that stifling atmosphere werealmost insufferable; but I was more exposed to view, something whichthe old woman noticed when she reentered.
"You have moved," she suspiciously snarled. "Come back and let theclothes hide you. Perhaps I can make the girl sing if she don't seeyou. She seems to be in one of her queer moods. Would you like to hearher sing?"
As the old woman evidently expected an enthusiastic assent I gave itwith as much force as I could muster up on such short notice.
"Hush! she is coming. You mustn't mind her laugh."
It was well she gave me this warning, for the sudden wild shout ofhilarious mirth which I now heard from the region of the staircase wasso startling, that without these words of caution I might havebetrayed myself. As it was, I kept my post in silence, watching forthe girl who I had every reason to believe had given the bottle ofprussic acid to Leighton Gillespie. Would she prove to be the wild,unkempt woman whose beautiful look he had endeavoured to describe tothe Salvation Army Captain? I hoped not; why, I hardly knew.
Suddenly there broke upon my eyes a sight I have never forgotten. Awoman came in--a woman, not a girl--and while her look was notbeautiful--far from it--she had that about her which no man could seefor the first time without emotion. Her features were ordinary whentaken by themselves, but seen together possessed an individualitywhose subtle attraction had been marred, but not entirely destroyed,
by the countless privations she had evidently undergone. And her hair,wild and uncared-for though it was, was wonderful; so was the air ofvivacity and rich, exuberant life which characterised her. Though hercheek was pale and her arms thin, she fairly beamed with thatindefinable but spontaneous gladness which springs from the mere factof being alive, a gladness which at that moment did not suggest drugsor any unwholesome source. I was astounded at the effect she producedupon me, and watched her eagerly. No common unfortunate, this. Yet itwould have been hard to find among the city's worst a woman morebedraggled or more poorly nourished.
"Sing!" cried old Mother Merry, with an authority against which Iinstinctively rebelled, though I had seen the object of it for only acouple of minutes. "You feel like it, and I feel like hearing you.SING!"
The woman's throat throbbed. She stopped just where she was and threwout her arms. Then she smiled and then--she sang.
I have heard Guilbert, I have heard Loftus, but neither of them evermade my temples throb, my heart swell, or my breath falter as thiswoman did. That she chose the saddest of all sad songs--she who amoment before seemed hardly able to contain her laughter--could notquite account for this effect; nor the fact that these flights oftragic melody rose from out a misery which no laughter could cover up.It was genius, great and wonderful genius, misdirected and lost, butstill heaven-given and worthy of an artist's recognition. As she sangon I yielded her mine, for my heart swelled almost to bursting, andwhen she had finished and stood poised, rapt, ecstatic, enthralledwith her own melody and beautiful with her own feeling, I found mycheeks wet with tears. I had never wept at anyone's singing before.
"Dance!" came in fresh command from the miserable hag behind me.
I had forgotten Mother Merry.
But the raised face I was contemplating drooped forward at thesewords, and the arms, which had moved all through the singing, fellinert.
"I have no strength," she wailed. Yet in another instant she wasswaying, turning, rising, and falling in mazes of movement so full ofgrace and charm that I scarcely missed the music which should haveaccompanied them. It was more than a dance: it was a drama;instinctively I followed her feelings and knew as by a species ofrevelation what each motion was meant to convey. I watched her as Iwould some charmed being; for the marks of care had vanished from herfeatures, and the lips, which had been drawn and white, burned redly,and the hair, which had hung in dishevelled locks, now blew out inlive curls, athrill with passion and breathing forth rapture and love.Suddenly she paused. Mother Merry had pointed me out with the words:
"The gentleman is looking at you."
Instantly her beauty shrivelled and vanished. Her hands went up to herface; and she crouched like a lost thing against the floor.
"No, no!" she wailed, and would have fled, but Mother Merry forced herback.
"The gentleman wants something. He wants a drop of what you gave theother one that night. You remember, the night the boys slid away andleft us to the police."
Instinctively her right hand went to her bosom and her eyes lookedwildly into mine. Suddenly she saw the moisture on my cheeks.
"Oh! he's been crying, Mother Merry, been crying. Perhaps now I cancry, too. I should like to; it's better than singing." And she brokeinto sobs so violent that I stood aghast in mingled pity andamazement.
Just then the policeman looked in.
"How now?" he cried. "What's up?"
My impulse was to shield her from this fellow's curiosity. Motioninghim away, I whispered in her ear:
"You haven't said whether you would give me what I have come for."
"What is that?"
"A drop of what kills trouble; kills it at once, instantly, andforever. I am wretched, heartbroken." (God knows I spoke the truth.)
She stared, and what remained of light in her face went out.
"I have none--now," she hoarsely assured me.
"Then get it where you got that."
"I cannot. I got that when it was easier to smile, and dancing was notfollowed by dreadful pain. Now--" She tried to laugh as she had a fewmoments before, but her jocund mood had passed. One would neverimagine from her present aspect that she had just floated through theroom an embodiment of joyousness and grace.
"You gave it all to him, _all_?" I questioned.
The emphasis did not strike her, or rather it assumed a differentplace in her mind than on my lips. "To him?" she repeated, shrinkingback with evident distrust.
"Yes," I pursued, following her and speaking in her ear; "the sailorlad who took it away from here that night. Poison--prussic acid--aphial you could hide in your hand."
She broke into laughter, not the expression of joy, but that ofdefiance if not derision. She was but a common woman now.
"Sailor lad!" she repeated, and laughed again.
I felt that the moment had come for speaking the significant word.Looking around and seeing that Mother Merry was not too near, Iwhispered:
"A sailor lad with a gentleman's name. You know the name; so doI--Leighton Gillespie."
She had not expected me to go so far. Smothering a frightened cry, shestruck her hands together over her head and dashed towards the door bywhich she had come in. Mother Merry stood before it laughing. Then sheturned to escape by the street; but there she was confronted by theheavy form of the policeman, who had thrust himself across thethreshold. Crouching, she folded her arms over her breast and made aplunge for the door communicating with the den beyond. It opened underher pressure and she fell gasping and bruised upon the threshold. Ihastened to her aid, but she was up before I could reach her.
"I don't know the man you talk of; I don't know you. I am a freewoman! a--free--woman!--" she shrieked, bounding to the trap andopening it. As she uttered the last words she swung herself down. Itried to stop her, but she was as agile as a cat. As I leaned over thehole I saw her disappearing among a confusion of oozy piles; andshuddering with the chill of the mephitic air that came pouring up, Idrew back.
"That's the end of her for to-day," muttered the harsh voice of MotherMerry behind me. "When she's like that you might as well make forother quarters. But you've had your money's worth. You've heard hersing; you've seen her dance. It's not every man can boast of that.She's shy of men; at least she'll never sing for them."
Perhaps I looked surprised; perhaps I only looked dejected.Misinterpreting the expression, whichever it was, old Mother Merrysidled up closer, and, as I made for the door, whispered with a leer:
"If you really want what you say, come back in a week; and if I canget it you shall have it."
I gave her another coin.
"What do you call that girl?" I asked, with my hand on the latch.
The money made her loquacious.
"Millie," she answered. "That is not how she speaks it, but it's howwe all call her."
It was, then, as I had thought. I had seen and listened toMille-fleurs, the woman to whom Leighton Gillespie had addressed thoseappealing lines.