was not exactly certain that the house whence emanated theshrieks was the actual house into which Kirk had entered. Hence I wasboth undecided and bewildered. For that reason I waited, my eyes gluedupon the dark door and house-front.
Suddenly, above the fanlight, I saw the flickering light of a candlecarried down the hall, and a moment later the door opened. In fear ofrecognition I sprang back into the roadway, where, at that distance, thefog obscured me.
Someone descended the steps, and, turning to the left, went in thedirection whence I had come. I followed stealthily for some distanceuntil I at last made out the figure in the weak light of a street-lamp.
It was not Kirk, only a forbidding-looking old woman in faded bonnet andshawl--a typical gin-drinking hag of a type one may see in hundreds inthat neighbourhood. I had followed her down into Cleveland Street,where she turned to the left, when it suddenly occurred to me that, inmy absence, Kirk might make his exit. Therefore I rather foolishlyabandoned pursuit, and retraced my steps.
Judge my chagrin, my utter disgust with myself when, on returning, Ifailed to recognise from which house the woman had come! In thatpuzzling pall of fog, which grew thicker and more impenetrable everymoment, I hesitated to decide which of three or four houses was theplace whence the woman's cries had emanated.
That hesitation was fatal to my success. In my excitement I had takenno notice of the number upon the door, and now I paced backwards andforwards before the railings of four houses, all almost exactly similar,all in darkness, all equally dingy and mysterious. Which of thosehouses held Kershaw Kirk I knew not, neither could I decide from whichof the four had come those despairing cries.
I had been a fool, a very great fool, for not going boldly to the doorand demanding an explanation, even though I might have received a roughhandling, alone and unarmed as I was. So I returned to the street-lampand tried to recognise the house from the point where I had stood whenthe first cry had fallen upon my ears. But, alas! again I could notdecide.
My impulse to follow the woman had been my undoing, for I somehow felt astrong conviction that Kirk had escaped during my absence in ClevelandStreet, for though I waited in that dense and choking blackness beneaththe red lamp of a surgery at the further corner for still another hour,he came not.
Therefore I was compelled very reluctantly to grope my way back into theTottenham Court Road, where at last I found a hansom, and with a manleading the horse, I fell asleep as we went westward, so fagged andexhausted was I by that long and unpleasant vigil.
The wife of a motorist like myself is used to her husband's late hours,therefore I had little difficulty in excusing myself to Mabel, yet whenI retired to bed no sleep came to my eyes.
That woman's shrill, despairing cry rang ever in my ears. Those wordsof hers were so mysterious, so ominous.
"_You've killed me, just as you killed my dear father_!"
Should I go to the police in the morning and make a clean breast of thewhole affair?
At dawn I found the fog had lifted, therefore, after looking in at thegarage, I called upon Kirk, resolved to pretend ignorance of his visitto the house off the Tottenham Court Road. But again I wasdisappointed, for he had been absent all night. His sister was ignorantof his whereabouts, but, as she explained, his movements were evererratic.
This caused me to make another visit to the house, which, in the lightof day, I found to be in Foley Street, an even more squalidneighbourhood than I had believed.
At the corner of Cleveland Street was the laundry, the windows of whichwere painted grey so that the passer-by could not peer within. Thestreet seemed to be the play-ground of numberless dirty children, whilethe houses, all of which were let in tenements, were smoke-grimed anddismal.
At some of the windows the cheap lace curtains hung limp and yellow, andat others the windows had been white-washed to prevent people lookingin. The neighbourhood was one that had sadly decayed, for even thepublic-house a little way up the street was closed and to let.
I stood outside the easily recognised surgery in order to take mybearings, and quickly discovered the three or four houses from one ofwhich had come that cry in the night.
Yet which house it was, I knew not. Therefore what could I do? Toremain there might attract Kirk's attention if he were within. Hence Iwas afraid to loiter, so I passed on into Langham Street, and thus outinto Portland Place.
I had become obsessed by the mystery of it all. I returned to Chiswick,and tried to give my mind to the details of my business, but all withoutavail. I saw that Pelham, my manager, was surprised at my apparentabsent-mindedness. I knew it was incumbent upon me to go to thepolice-station, which was only a few hundred yards from me on theopposite side of the road, and tell the inspector on duty the wholestory. Yet somehow the affair, with all its mysterious features, hadfascinated me, and Kershaw Kirk most of all. The information was mine,and it was for me to solve this remarkable enigma.
Kirk's absence from home, and his failure to communicate with me, showedthat either he mistrusted me, or that he was purposely misleading me forthe attainment of his own ends.
He had sought my friendship and assistance, and yet next day he hadabandoned me in doubt and ignorance.
I managed to get through the day at the garage, and eagerly bought theevening paper, anxious to see whether the tragedy had become publicproperty; but as yet it was unknown. I dined at home, and I suppose mymanner was so preoccupied that Mabel, my wife, asked:
"What's the matter, Harry? You seem unusually worried?"
"Oh! I don't know, dear," I replied, trying to laugh. "I've had a lotof things to do at the office to-day," I added in excuse; "I've got togo back this evening."
Mabel pouted, and I knew the reason. I had promised to run her and hersister over to Teddington to see some friends with whom we had promisedto spend the evening.
But I was in no mood for visiting friends. I went along to Kirk'shouse, and, finding him still absent, took the train from Hammersmith toBaker Street, and walked through Clarence Gate to Sussex Place.
It had just struck nine when I halted at the Professor's door, but Idrew back suddenly when I saw a tall, well-dressed, clean-shaven youngman in hard felt hat and overcoat, standing in the doorway.
He had rung, and was evidently awaiting an answer to his summons.
The place was, I noticed, in darkness. Antonio had evidently omitted toswitch on the light in the hall.
What could that young man want at the house of death?
Unfortunately, I had not been quick enough, for as I halted he turnedupon me, realising that to call there was my intention.
"This is strange!" he remarked to me, "I've been ringing here nearlyhalf an hour, and can get no reply. Yet when I passed the front of thehouse there was a light in the small drawing-room. I've never beforeknown the place to be left; there are always servants here, even if theProfessor and his daughter are absent."
It occurred to me that Antonio had detected him from within, and that hemight be an unwelcome visitor. I recollected Kirk's strict injunctionsto the faithful Italian.
"Antonio may be out," I suggested.
"But the maids would surely be at home," he argued. "I wonder ifthieves are inside? I somehow suspect it," he whispered.
"Why?"
"Because I distinctly heard a movement in the hall about ten minutesago," he answered. "Will you go round to the front and see if there arelights in any of the rooms, while I remain here? You'll soon see thehouse--the first with the long columns at the drawing-room windows."
I consented, and was quickly round at the front.
But the whole place was in total darkness. Not a light showed anywhere.
I returned, and suggested that in passing he might have been mistaken.There were lights in the windows of the adjoining house.
"No," declared the young man, who, by his speech, I recognised was welleducated, "I made no mistake. There's some mystery here. I wired fromParis to Miss Greer this morning, making an ap
pointment this evening.It's curious that she's out."
"You are a friend of the family, I suppose?" I asked, eager to know whothe young fellow was.
"Yes," he replied; "and you?"
"I am also," was my answer. What other reply could I make? "I believethe Professor is up in Scotland," I added.
"But where is Antonio and all the other servants?" he argued.
"Well," I said, "their master being absent, they may all be out,spending the evening; servants have a habit of doing so in the absenceof their masters."
"Then how do you account for the movements I have heard inside?" heasked. "No; if the servants are out, then the thieves are within. Willyou stay here to bar their exit, while I go out and find a constable?"
Mention of the police caused me to wince. This young man was inignorance of what had really