*CHAPTER XX*
*THE ROOM OF EVIL*
A quarter of an hour later Bernard Boyne stood in the room where GeraldDurrant lay back in the arm-chair, pale as death, quite unconscious.
"So you tried to get the better of me, my young friend, did you?" helaughed, as he stood before the inanimate figure. "But you dropped intothe trap just as I intended. I could easily put you out of the way, youinfernal young prig, but it might be dangerous."
"No, no!" cried Ena anxiously. "The body would be found. And ScotlandYard may possibly find traces of us. No! Carry out yourplan--telegrams, a motor-car journey, a pretty story--and good-bye-ee!"
"Yes. But this fellow, and the girl who is in love with him, aredistinct dangers, remember!"
"True. But it was the girl who aroused his suspicions. Send herunderground, if you like, and as soon as you like, for none of us haveany love for her, have we?"
"Ena," he said, his manner suddenly changing; "an idea regarding thegirl, Marigold, has just occurred to me--one that cannot beinvestigated, and nothing can be brought up against us. Leave her tome!"
"Oh, we will, Bernie! But recollect, she must have a dose--and go out.That's the only way to put the tombstone over this affair. We don'twant any unwelcome inquiries, or any resistance by the insurancecompany."
"Don't fret, my dear Ena. We shan't have any real trouble, I assureyou. We are now dealing with it in advance." Then, turning to hiswife, he exclaimed: "Those necessary telegrams? You have them allready. Get busy, and send them. I've arranged with Jimmy, inBirmingham, and Hylda, in Paris, to send others at certain times."
"Great Scott, Bernie! Your brain is wonderful!" exclaimed Ena inadmiration. "How can you think out all these details in such a shortspace of time?"
"When one is in danger one takes due precaution--and at once. I alwaysdo so," he laughed. "This fellow and his girl have tried to spy uponus--and we have to deal with them as they would deal with us. If theydiscovered anything they would at once tell the police, and very soonour game would be up. Hence, we have to put matters square at the leastpossible risk to ourselves," he added.
He took up the glass from which Gerald had drunk the excellent port, andcarried it into the small kitchen, where he carefully washed it.Afterwards Ena handed him a small phial which he also carefully washed,and then half filled it with something he took from his pocket. Thebottle was full of that cheap, but pungent, perfume--oil of verbena.When he had half filled the small bottle, he corked it and placed it ina cupboard in the kitchen, thus removing all trace of the deleteriousliquid which the little phial had previously contained.
Lilla had gone out, but half an hour later she drove up to the door in asmall open car. The manner in which she pulled up showed her to be agood driver.
The inhabitants of the whole block of flats--those houses piled upon oneanother, which are admittedly cheap to run, but which are so veryexpensive from a health point of view--were asleep when, assisted by thetwo women, and treading softly, they placed Durrant in the car, heavyand unconscious owing to the drug which had been given him.
Lilla then mounted to the driver's seat, and, leaving Ena to close theflat and return to Upper Brook Street as best she could, Boyne and hiswife, with their unconscious victim in the bottom of the car, sped outacross Hampstead Heath, and northward upon the Great North Road.
Not till forty-eight hours afterwards did Gerald Durrant slowly andpainfully awake to a knowledge of his surroundings. By that timeMarigold and the others had been reassured by the telegrams.
Gerald's first impression was of a strange, rather healthful smell--asmell of tar. He looked around. The ceiling of the room was low--aceiling which badly required whitewashing. Before him was a smallsquare window--a very small window. And he was lying fully dressed upona narrow iron bedstead.
Apparently the house was an old cottage, but quite unfamiliar. He triedto think, but his brain was addled. His memory refused to serve him.The sun was shining in at the window, and the little room seemed closeand stuffy. It was the sunset, he gathered.
Try how he would, he could recollect absolutely nothing. All he couldrecollect were the faces of those two women whom he had assisted intheir distress.
He strove to think. At last, he recollected how Mrs. Evans had givenhim that glass of good port, and how afterwards they had chattedtogether. Then all was blank.
Of time he had no idea. What, he wondered, would Marigold think of hisabsence? And what would they think at the office?
His first impulse was to wire to Wimbledon Park and to Mincing Lane.Yes, it was imperative that he should do so.
Yet he knew not where he was, for as he raised himself upon his elbowfrom the bed, he saw that the only look-out from the small window was ahigh brick wall, apparently the wall of a warehouse. The room was dustyand uncleanly. There was no carpet--nothing save a very ragged squareof black-and-white linoleum. He got up and, dazed as he was, he triedthe door. It was strongly bolted from without!
He shouted--yelled at the top of his voice, but nobody came. Upon thelittle deal table he saw something which told him that he was aprisoner--a jug containing some water, and a plate with someunwholesome-looking cooked meat and some bread.
He examined them with a rising feeling of indignation. Then, in a fury,he raised a heavy wooden chair, and savagely attacked the door. Timeafter time, he took it by its leg and banged it upon the door, making atremendous noise. Yet the strong oak resisted every attempt, until,piece by piece, the chair was broken up. Then he looked around forsomething stronger. There was a rusty iron fender. This he took up, andusing it as a battering ram struck the door repeatedly. But the fenderbeing of cast iron broke in half, but made no injury to the door.
He crossed to the window and, smashing the glass, tried to open it. Butoutside were strong iron bars. He was indeed a prisoner!
In desperation he flung the mattress from the bed, and, taking down thebedstead, attacked the door vigorously with one of the iron bars. Heused the end--for it was hammered out--as a crowbar and succeeded afterlong effort in inserting it between the door and the lintel, but so wellwas it secured by bolts that he had no power to force it open, and inthe end the thin iron bent, and thus became useless.
Presently he hammered on the floor, and tried to awaken somebody, stillall to no purpose. In the meanwhile, darkness was falling and soon hewould, he knew, be without light. Notwithstanding that his head wasaching terribly, and there was a feeling as though his skull was slowlybeing crushed in a vice, he set to work to liberate himself in anotherway.
He tore aside the old linoleum, and succeeded in forcing up one of thedirty floor-boards. This he followed by another, and yet a third, untilbelow was revealed the plaster of the ceiling of the room underneath.
Then, taking a heavy piece of the bedstead, he struck down with all hismight.
The iron struck the plaster, but, contrary to his expectation, he wasunable to force a hole through the ceiling. Then, suddenly, to hisdismay, he discovered that what he had believed to be plaster wasconcrete--that the floor was a fireproof one, and that being so, anyattempt to penetrate it without proper tools was foredoomed to failure.
He gazed about him, utterly bewildered.
What could have happened after he had drunk that glass of port so kindlyoffered him by the handsome Mrs. Evans? That he was in the hands ofenemies it was plain, but who were they? He wondered whether hisincarceration in that place had any connection with his inquisitivenessconcerning Bernard Boyne.
He reflected. Boyne had not been cognisant of being followed. He wasconvinced of that. Had he been so, he would not have paid thosenocturnal visits to Pont Street and Upper Brook Street.
In the evening light he stood utterly perplexed. At his feet he saw thatthe boards were discoloured by a large brown stain some three feet indiameter. One part of it was thick, as though dark paint had beenspilled there. He bent t
o examine it more closely, and from the woodscraped a portion of the thick substance with his finger-nail.
The stuff seemed curiously sticky, very much like paint. He took itacross to the window, and there examined it minutely in the light,rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.
Next moment a cry of horror escaped him. "Great Heavens!" he gasped."Why--it's blood!"
Apparently there had been a pool of blood there, but it had nearly alldried up, save that portion which had not yet become completelyhardened.
What could it mean?
He returned to the spot which had been immediately beneath where he hadlain upon the bed. Had some previous occupant of that barred room beenfoully done to death while sleeping? It certainly seemed that such wasthe explanation.
"Who brought me here, I wonder?" he said aloud to himself, as theghastly suggestion crept over him. "What is Marigold thinking of mydisappearance? What can they think of it at the office?"
Across the narrow room he paced in frantic anger at having been soentrapped without the slightest motive. The dead silence of the placeoppressed him. Without knowledge of where he was, either in London orin the country, he set his teeth and regretted the moment when he wentto the assistance of the two women. Yet, surely, they could havenothing to do with his detention there? The absence of motive held himcompletely perplexed.
In the fast-fading light he made a complete and minute inspection ofthat chamber wherein he had made the gruesome discovery. If someone hadreally been done to death in that place recently, then there might beother traces of the tragedy. Further, how was he to know that he, inturn, would not fall a victim!
Hastily, because the light was going, he turned out a cupboard, butfound nothing save a quantity of newspapers. Some rubbish in the rustyfireplace he examined, but his search there was also fruitless.
Then he turned his attention to a long, narrow double-doored cupboardlet into the wall close to the bed. One door was bolted from within,and the other locked. To force it open was only the work of a fewmoments. Within he found a quantity of feminine apparel of goodquality, a skirt, shoes, and other things.
One object which he took up caused him to ejaculate another cry ofhorror, and to hold his breath.
He carried it across to the broken window, and there bent to see if whathe suspected was the actual truth.
Yes! He satisfied himself that it was. What he held in his hand was awoman's cream _crepe-de-chine_ blouse, prettily trimmed with lace, butthe neck, chest, and all over the left sleeve were stained with blood!
"Then the victim was a woman!" he gasped aloud.
Quickly he examined all the other articles of attire, but found notraces of blood upon any other. He decided to keep his knowledge tohimself, so that when he escaped, as he intended to do, he might at onceinform the police of what he had found. Therefore he instantly set towork to replace the floor-boards, and recover them with the old piece oflinoleum which hid the great ugly stain. Then, restoring the room toorder in the best way possible, he replaced the blouse and the otherfeminine garments where he had found them, and was able--after a greatdeal of difficulty, for it was nearly dark--to place the two doors ofthe cupboard together in such a way that they closed, so that all traceof them being forced was thus removed.
That some unknown woman had recently lost her life in that place was nowquite certain. After he had put the place in order again--all savere-erecting the bedstead, for this could not be done, neither could hemend the broken chair--he stood in the darkness pondering. It wasimpossible to remain in that horrible place all night. If he slept hemight be attacked, as the poor woman had probably been. And in hishalf-dazed condition he needed sleep badly.
His one thought was of Marigold.
"What will she think, poor girl!" he cried aloud in his anguish. "Whathas she done now that I am missing?"
He listened. There was no sound save the chiming of a church clock inthe distance, followed by the shrill whistle of a locomotive. Then heheard the long-drawn siren of a ship repeated three times, but somedistance away. Evidently the place was near a river, or perhaps by thesea. That would account for the smell of tar.
Then all became quiet again. The silence and darkness began to get uponhis nerves until he could stand it no longer. The thought that a darktragedy had been perpetrated upon that very spot where he stood filledhim with horror.
Therefore at last he again went to the window, and began to send up someunearthly yells in a fierce endeavour to attract the attention ofsomebody outside.
Time after time he repeated his shouts, but nobody answered. He couldhear the voices of two common women gossiping, and though he could notsee them he shouted to them. But they only deigned to yell back.
"Oh, shut up! Do shut up--whoever you are!"
Suddenly he recollected that drunken brawls and cries for help are onlytoo frequent in lower-class neighbourhoods, therefore his cries forassistance, though they must be heard, were being disregarded.
So he desisted, and resolved to remain patient a further quarter of anhour, and then resume his cries for help.
He was standing in the darkness near the window when a slight andcurious movement behind him caused him to turn sharply.
Beneath the door he saw a light, but whoever was there wore rubber solesto their shoes, for they made no sound. The slight noise which hadfallen upon his strained ears was the slow and stealthy drawing of a baroutside the door.
Someone was creeping noiselessly in!
On tiptoe he crossed, and, seizing the bar of iron, sprang behind thedoor, his hand raised ready to fell any person who entered.
The handle of the door was very slowly turned, but next second--ere hebecame aware of it--a strange thing happened.