CHAPTER VII
THE BOTTOM DRAWER
That night he realised his own picture.
One o'clock was the hour suggested by Miss Casata. Twenty times beforethat hour arrived he told himself that he had better return toAfrica--ghosts or no ghosts--than do this thing. It seemed to him thatdishonour hedged him round about; that whichever way he went he wouldfind himself among the thorns. If he did this thing he would break hisplighted word; quite possibly lose his love and his fortune too. If hedid the other he might quite possibly find himself up to the neck in aslough of misunderstandings--to speak of nothing worse--from which hecould never emerge as clean as he went in. The choice was a pleasantone. Yet he never hesitated as to which horn of the dilemma he wouldthrust himself on. Although very much against his will, he was set onburglary. And, being once resolved, set about the business, to alloutward appearances, as calmly as if such incidents were the meretrivialities of his nightly life.
At a quarter after midnight he started to stroll from Charing Cross.At the half hour he was sauntering in the Westminster Abbey Gardens.He glanced along Victoria Street as far as he could see. An occasionalomnibus came rumbling along. Cabs flitted to and fro; sometimescarriages. But foot passengers were few and far between. And, so faras could be seen from the street, the buildings on either side of theway were in darkness.
He strolled gently on, swinging his stick, smoking a cigar, as anyother gentleman might have done who enjoyed the cool night air. Undera lamp-post stood a policeman. Mr Holland smiled.
'Good-night, officer!'
He bestowed on him a genial salutation, which the other returned inkind.
'Good-night, sir.'
He seemed rather a youngish man, well set up, with broad shoulders anda shrewd face. Mr Holland wondered if he should have any professionalintercourse with him before the night was over. He laughed to himselfas he thought of it. When he had gone some distance further he stoppedand turned. The constable had vanished. Presumably his duty had ledhim down one of the side streets. An omnibus was coming in onedirection, a couple of cabs in the other. Miss Bewicke's rooms wereclose at hand. Should he let the vehicles pass before he came tobusiness? It was not yet one. He hesitated, then walked slowly pastthe house, noticing as he went that the front door was closed. Whatdid it mean? Was he supposed to knock, calling upon the porter to lethim in? The notion was absurd. Perhaps Miss Casata had only beenplaying with him after all.
At the idea he laughed again. What would Miss Broad say--and think--ifthe woman had promised more than she could perform? He went nearly asfar as Victoria, then retraced his steps. As he approached the houseagain Big Ben struck one. He stopped, threw away the butt of hiscigar, moved to the door. There was a handle. He turned it, ityielded, the door was open.
So it seemed that there was some sort of method in Miss Casata'smadness.
The question was, Where was the porter? Was he within? Upstairs ordown? He peeped inside the door, or tried to. The street lamps did notpenetrate; it was pitch dark. He entered, closing the door behind him.All was still. As he listened, seeking to peer this way and that, itseemed to him that the darkness was like a wall on every side.
'What am I to do? I shall tumble over something if I don't look out; Idon't even know where the staircase is: Dare I strike a match? Iwonder what professionals do under circumstances such as these. I'veheard of their carrying dark lanterns, and such-like mysteriousthings. Unfortunately, I haven't got so far as that, though there's noknowing how far I shall get before I've done.'
He moved forward, and kicked against something which made a noise.
'This will never do. I shall come to grief if I don't look out. It'llhave to be a match.'
He struck one; it ignited with a spluttering noise which seemed to himto resemble the explosion of a dynamite cartridge, fizzled, then wentout.
'This is pretty. But I caught a glimpse of the staircase. I supposeI'll have to be content with seeing so much.'
He felt his way to the stairs, presently had his hand upon the rail,then commenced to ascend. All at once he stopped.
'Hanged if I haven't forgotten on which floor her rooms are! That's acomfortable state of affairs. I can't go prowling all over the placeplaying a game of hide-and-seek with Miss Bewicke's rooms. There'd betrouble. Now, what am I to do?'
The question was answered in rather a curious way. Looking up hegradually became conscious of what looked like a gleam of lightsomewhere overhead.
'I wonder if that's a hint to me, or if it's the porter. I'm off toinquire. If it's the porter I'll have to explain.'
He chuckled to himself at the reflection of the sort of explanation hewould have to offer. He continued to ascend.
'I hope it's all right, but it seems a good way up. I didn't think sheoccupied quite such an elevated position as this.'
He reached the floor on which was the light, perceiving now that itproceeded from a door upon the right which was open but the merestfraction of an inch.
'Is that where she resides? I wonder. At least I'll make inquiries.I'll knock, as an honest man should do, and see who answers.'
He tapped at the panel softly with his knuckles, so softly that onemight have been excused for supposing he had no desire that histapping should be heard. There was no response. He tapped again; stillnone. He pushed the door wider open, finding himself in what appeared,in the dim light, to be a little hall. Another open door was on hisright. It was on the other side of this that the light was burning. Heremembered what Miss Casata had said about Miss Bewicke's bedroom;that it was the second door on his right as he entered. Apparently shehad been as good as her word; better, indeed, for she had placed alight to guide him. He advanced to find himself in what was evidentlya lady's bedroom.
A night light flickered on a table in the centre; it was that whichhad lightened his darkness. He glanced around. Everywhere were tracesof feminine occupation; knick-knacks which no man would willinglysuffer in the chamber in which he slept; numerous examples of theinevitable photograph. Against a wall hung a crayon portrait. Herecognised the original--the owner of the room. The pictured faceseemed to return him look for look, reproaches in its glances. Heremoved his eyes, abashed.
On one side was the dressing-table of which Miss Casata had spoken.A gorgeous piece of furniture, of some delicate light wood, withgilt and ivory insets. Columns of drawers were on either side; afull-length cheval glass swung between them. As he stood in front ofit he was startled by the reflection of his own image; he felt thatthere was something sinister in the bearing of the man who spied onhim. The little drawers were those of which he had been told. Theycontained many of Miss Bewicke's jewels. What he sought was in thebottom drawer upon his right. Somehow, since he had entered the house,everything seemed on his right. He stooped to open it. The drawer waslocked.
The discovery staggered him more than anything which had gonebefore--that the drawer was locked. At last he was confronted with thereal nature of the errand he had come upon. Hitherto he had been ableto salve his conscience with the fact that he had simply passedthrough open doors. Now, if he wished to effect an entrance he wouldhave to force one, like any other thief. He gave another try at thehandle. The drawer refused to budge. It certainly was locked. His eyewas caught by something which was lying upon the floor, within a footof him. It was a screwdriver. The juxtaposition was suggestive; thescrewdriver, and the locked drawer. Miss Casata was no half-heartedally; she was thorough. She was aware that, as an amateur, he mightforget to bring the proper tools; so, with praiseworthythoughtfulness, she had supplied, in advance, his possible omissions.
He was not so grateful as he might have been. He used strong language.
'Curse that woman! It is such as she who drive men along the road tohell.'
None the less he took the screwdriver in his hand. He felt its edge.It seemed sharp.
'I suppose, since I've gone so far, I may as well see the thing rightthrough. It's no go
od shying at a gnat after tackling a whale. Heregoes!'
Thrusting the chisel between the woodwork and the drawer, he proceededto prise it open. The lock was but a slight one. It quickly yielded.The drawer shot out. He peered within. It contained a small white box,apparently of deal. He took it out. Inside was a ruby signet ring. Herose with the ring between his fingers.
As he stood up, someone came into the room. Turning, he found himselfstaring at Miss Bewicke.