that."
To which my only reply would be that, to my knowledge, there are plentyof "gentlemen" who are not gentlemen, and quite a sensible proportion ofthe men we do self-complacently term "bounders" who are men of highideals and of great refinement.
During supper, to which he had asked me half-apologetically, theconstable entertained me with many good stories, for he had beenseventeen years in the Metropolitan Police, and had seen much of life inLondon during that time. I waited until we had finished supper, and hiswife had retired, before submitting for his approval the proposal I hadcome to make.
Mine was quite a simple proposal, though not devoid of risk, yet theplan could not well be carried out without his help. Briefly, I wasdetermined to force an entrance to the house in Belgrave Street on thefollowing night, and the way I had decided to get in was through thedark cellar-passage which opened on to Crane's Alley.
During the afternoon I had visited the Alley, and examined the lock ofthe gate at the end of the iron railings which topped the wall of thelittle yard, also the lock of the small door that led into the blackcellar-passage which ultimately led into the house. Both, I saw, couldeasily be forced. Indeed, there would be no need to force the lock ofthe iron gate. I could climb over the gate, as I had done that day.All this I told the constable, and he calmly nodded.
"And you want me to abet you in this crime," he said at last, with agrin, as he loaded his pipe anew.
"I do," I said. "And--I'll make it worth your while."
"Well, it's house-breaking, you know," he observed drily, filling theroom with clouds of smoke. "And you know what the sentence for breakinginto a house at night is?"
"Never mind about the sentence," I answered quickly. "I shall have toserve that--and not you! But there won't be any sentence, because therewon't be any capture--if you help me. And you are going to help me.Oh, yes, you are."
We both laughed.
"You are a one, sir--an' no mistake!" he exclaimed. "Well, yes, I'll dome best and charnce it. I'm a bit of a sport meself when they gives mearf a charnce."
And so it was settled. It was this policeman's duty to keep an eye onCrane's Alley, which was included in his beat. Well, he would for onceforget to keep an eye on it, while the sergeant was out of the way.More, he would lend a hand when the time came to force the lock of thedoor in the little yard. After that he would be at liberty to slip backto Belgrave Street and resume his monotonous tramp.
And all this would happen on the following night, or rather, about twoo'clock next morning.
When I left him it was nine o'clock, and, feeling in high spirits, Idrove to the _Grand_ to tell Vera my plan, for I felt I must tellsomebody. She was alone in the private sitting-room overlooking thethousand lights of Trafalgar Square, and I sat with my arm about her.
"It is madness--sheer madness," she exclaimed, when I had outlined myscheme, "and if you will take my advice--you know my advice is generallysound--you will at once abandon the idea, Dick. It is very well for youto say that my father is your friend, but you don't know my father--youdon't know him as I know him. There are two sides to his character.Indeed, I would say he is really two men in one. The man you know isvery different from the other man--my father as you have never seen him,and as I hope you never will see him. He can become perfectly savage.He has a temper that is altogether unmanageable when once it gets thebetter of him. It doesn't often, but when it does--
"No, don't do it, dear, don't, I beg of you. I ask you not to. I begyou not to if you really love me."
"I must," I answered, with a firmness that surprised her. "I have gonetoo far now to draw back, even if I wanted to, which I don't. I amgoing to see this thing through. I'm going to discover the mystery ofthat house. I don't care what risks I take, or what happens, but I amgoing to see for myself what all this secret business means."
To my surprise she began to laugh.
"Dick," she said, "I sometimes wonder if you are quite `all there.' Whyon earth can't you let people alone, and mind your own business?Supposing Whichelo should turn upon you--good Heavens, he could squeezethe life out of you with one hand."
"Whichelo?" I asked, puzzled, still holding her soft hand in mine.
"Yes. You said when you looked in at the window you saw Whichelo withmy father."
Instantly I put two and two together. So the big, dark giant whom I hadknown only as Davies was called Whichelo!
At last I had found out!
"And why should this man with the funny name, this Whichelo, want to`squeeze the life out of me' as you so picturesquely put it?" Iinquired carelessly, rising and crossing to the window, the blinds ofwhich were not drawn.
"For the simple reason," she answered, "that of course he won't allowyou to reveal the secret that has been kept so well, and so long. Heand my father would stick at nothing to prevent that--believe me. Itell you again, I know my father."
Somehow, though she spoke calmly, I felt she had some very strongincentive for not wanting me to enter the house and see what washappening there. She seemed to dread my carrying out my plan. Yetapparently she was not anxious on my account. But my mind was now madeup. Nothing, I was determined, should stop me. I believed that I wason the eve of making discoveries which would lead to the unravelling ofthe mystery of Houghton Park, and the mysteries which had followed.
"Good-night, darling," I said, going back to her. I took her in my armsand kissed her. As I did so, I thought I felt her sob.
"Why, Vera, what is the matter?" I exclaimed, releasing her.
"The matter?" she said, forcing a smile. "Nothing. Oh! nothing at all,dear. Why?"
"You--you seemed worried."
"Oh, you're mistaken. Why should I be?" She gave vent to a littlehysterical laugh. I kissed her again, and told her to "cheer up." ThenI left her. I did not dare trust myself longer in her presence, lestshe should, after all, persuade me to change my mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
A SECRET IS DISCLOSED.
The night was still--clear and starlit.
Between two and three in the morning is the one hour when, in London,the very houses seem to slumber, save in a few districts, such as FleetStreet, Covent Garden and its purlieus, where night and day are alike--equally active, equally feverish--those streets which never sleep.
I wore an old suit, a golf cap, shoes with rubber soles, and in myjacket-pocket carried an electric torch. I had decided not to take apistol. After all, I was not bent on mischief. Also I was going, as Isupposed, among friends. Even if Sir Charles were to turn upon me Icould not believe he would do me an injury, in spite of my beloved'swarning. He and I had known each other such a long time.
Vera, finding that nothing would dissuade me, had ended by giving me thebunch of keys which I had forgotten she still possessed--the keys I hadtaken from old Taylor's pocket. "If you are determined to do this madthing, Dick," she had said to me, kissing me fondly, "you may as wellget in with the key, instead of house-breaking." On the bunch were thekey which would unlock the iron gate, and the one of the little door.This greatly simplified matters, for there were no bolts on the littledoor, as there were upon the front door and on the tradesmen's door.
The light appeared in the same window on the first floor at exactlytwenty minutes past two. Standing in Belgrave Street with my constablefriend, who was now on duty, I saw it flicker suddenly. Without furtherdelay we both went round Crane's Alley. Nobody was about. Not a soundanywhere. Noiselessly I unlocked the iron gate, then the little door...
"Good luck, sir," the policeman whispered, as I crept into the dark,low-roofed passage. "And if you want any help, remember you've got thewhistle."
There were two little stone-walled cellar-passages, and I took the oneto the right. Before I had gone a yard I uttered an exclamation. I wasup against a great veil of grey cobwebs which hung from everywhere andwas stretched right across the stone passage. So thick were they that Ihad to push into them to make my way along. How I
regretted I had notbrought a stick! Suddenly something damp creepy, large, horrible, ranacross my face, then another, and another.
Ugh! My blood ran cold at their touch, for I hate spiders.
I pulled out my electric torch. Its sudden glare sent scores of spidersscurrying in all directions. I could actually hear them--nay, I couldsmell them, and, wherever I looked, I could see them. The sight made meshudder, for they were not, apparently, house-spiders of the usualvariety--but large, fat, oval-bodied things, with curved legs, and withprotruding heads that seemed to look at me. Indeed, I don't think thatin the whole of my life I have ever spent moments that I less like todwell upon than the two