CHAPTER IV
MRS. KEBBY'S DISCOVERY
The pertinacity which Berwin displayed in insisting that Lucian shouldexplore the Silent House was truly remarkable. He appeared to be bentupon banishing the idea which Denzil entertained that strangers werehiding in the mansion.
From attic to basement, from front to back premises, he led the way, andmade Lucian examine every corner of the empty rooms. He showed him eventhe unused kitchen, and bade him remark that the door leading into theyard was locked and bolted, and, from the rusty condition of theironwork, could not have been opened for years. Also, he made him lookout of the window into the yard itself, with its tall black fencedividing it from the other properties.
This exploration finished, and Lucian being convinced that himself andhis host were the only two living beings in the house, Berwin conductedhis half-frozen guest back to the warm sitting-room and poured out aglass of wine.
"Here, Mr. Denzil," said he in good-natured tones, "drink this and drawnear the fire; you must be chilled to the bone after our Arcticexpedition."
Lucian willingly accepted both these attentions, and sipped hiswine--it was particularly fine claret--before the fire, while Berwincoughed and shivered, and muttered to himself about the cold of theseason. When Lucian stood up to take his departure, he addressed himdirectly:
"Well, sir," said he, with a sardonic smile, "are you convinced that thestruggling shadows on yonder blind were children of your heated fancy?"
"No," said Denzil stoutly, "I am not!"
"Yet you have seen that there is no one in the house!"
"Mr. Berwin," said Lucian, after a moment's thought, "you propose ariddle which I cannot answer, and which I do not wish to answer. Icannot explain what I saw to-night, but as surely as you were out ofthis house, some people were in it. How this affects you, or what reasonyou have for denying it, I do not ask. Keep your own secrets, and goyour own way. I wish you good-night, sir," and Lucian moved towards thedoor.
Berwin, who was holding a full tumbler of rich, strong port, drank thewhole of it in one gulp. The strong liquor reddened his pallid face andbrightened his sunken eyes; it even strengthened his already sonorousvoice.
"At least you can inform my good neighbours that I am a peaceful man,desirous of being left to lead my own life," he said urgently.
"No, sir! I will have nothing to do with your business. You are astranger to me, and our acquaintance is too slight to warrant mydiscussing your affairs. Besides," added Lucian, with a shrug, "they donot interest me."
"Yet they may interest the three kingdoms one day," said Berwin softly.
"Oh, if they deal with danger to society," said Denzil, thinking hisstrange neighbour spoke of anarchistic schemes, "I would----"
"They deal with danger to myself," interrupted Berwin. "I am a huntedman, and I hide here from those who wish me ill. I am dying, as yousee," he cried, striking his hollow chest, "but I may not die quicklyenough for those who desire my death."
"Who are they?" cried Lucian, rather startled by this outburst.
"People with whom you have no concern," replied the man sullenly.
"That is true enough, Mr. Berwin, so I'll say good-night!"
"Berwin! Berwin! Ha! ha! A very good name, Berwin, but not for me. Oh,was there ever so unhappy a creature as I? False name, false friend, indisgrace, in hiding! Curse everybody! Go! go! Mr. Denzil, and leave meto die here like a rat in its hole!"
"You are ill!" said Lucian, amazed by the man's fury. "Shall I send adoctor to see you?"
"Send no one," cried Berwin, commanding himself by a visible effort."Only go away and leave me to myself. 'Thou can'st not minister to amind diseased.' Go! go!"
"Good-night, then," said Denzil, seeing that nothing could be done. "Ihope you will be better in the morning."
Berwin shook his head, and with a silent tongue, which contrastedstrangely with his late outcry, ushered Denzil out of the house.
As the heavy door closed behind him Lucian descended the steps andlooked thoughtfully at the grim mansion, which was tenanted by somysterious a person. He could make nothing of Berwin--as he chose tocall himself--he could see no meaning in his wild words and madbehaviour; but as he walked briskly back to his lodgings he came to theconclusion that the man was nothing worse than a tragic drunkard,haunted by terrors engendered by over-indulgence in stimulants. Theepisode of the shadows on the blind he did not attempt to explain, forthe simple reason that he was unable to find any plausible explanationto account therefor.
"And why should I trouble my head to do so?" mused Lucian as he went tobed. "The man and his mysteries are nothing to me. Bah! I have beeninfected by the vulgar curiosity of the Square. Henceforth I'll neithersee nor think of this drunken lunatic," and with such resolve hedismissed all thoughts of his strange acquaintance from his mind, which,under the circumstances, was perhaps the wisest thing he could do.
But later on certain events took place which forced him to alter hisdetermination. Fate, with her own ends to bring about is not to bedenied by her puppets; and of these Lucian was one, designed for animportant part in the drama which was to be played.
Mrs. Margery Kebby, who attended to the domestic economy of Berwin'shouse, was a deaf old crone with a constant thirst, only to be assuagedby strong drink; and a filching hand which was usually in every pocketsave her own. She had neither kith nor kin, nor friends, nor evenacquaintances; but, being something of a miser, scraped and screwed toamass money she had no need for, and dwelt in a wretched littleapartment in a back slum, whence she daily issued to work little andpilfer much.
Usually at nine o'clock she brought in her employer's breakfast from theNelson Hotel, which was outside the Square, and while he was enjoying itin bed, after his fashion, she cleaned out and made tidy thesitting-room. Berwin then dressed and went out for a walk, despite MissGreeb's contention that he took the air only at night, like an owl, andduring his absence Mrs. Kebby attended to the bedroom. She then wentabout her own business, which was connected with the cleaning of variousother apartments, and only returned at midday and at night to lay thetable for Berwin's luncheon and dinner, or rather dinner and supper,which were also sent in from the hotel.
For these services Berwin paid her well, and only enjoined her to keep aquiet tongue about his private affairs, which Mrs. Kebby usually diduntil excited by too copious drams of gin, when she talked freely andunwisely to all the servants in the Square. It was to her observationand invention that Berwin owed his bad reputation.
Well-known in every kitchen, Mrs. Kebby hobbled from one to the other,gossiping about the various affairs of her various employers; and whenabsolute knowledge failed she took to inventing details which did nosmall credit to her imagination. Also, she could tell fortunes byreading tea-leaves and shuffling cards, and was not above aiding themaid servants in their small love affairs.
In short, Mrs. Kebby was a dangerous old witch, who, a century back,would have been burnt at the stake; and the worst possible person forBerwin to have in his house. Had he known of her lying and prating shewould not have remained an hour under his roof; but Mrs. Kebby wascunning enough to steer clear of such a danger in the most dexterousmanner. She had a firm idea that Berwin had, in her own emphatic phrase,"done something" for which he was wanted by the police, and was alwayson the look out to learn the secret of his isolated life, in order tobetray him, or blackmail him, or get him in some way under her thumb. Asyet she had been unsuccessful.
Deeming her a weak, quiet old creature, Berwin, in spite of hissuspicious nature, entrusted Mrs. Kebby with the key of the front door,so that she could enter for her morning's work without disturbing him.The sitting-room door itself was not always locked, but Berwin usuallybolted the portal of his bedroom, and had invariably to rise and admitMrs. Kebby with his breakfast.
The same routine was observed each morning, and everything wentsmoothly. Mrs. Kebby had heard of the blind shadows from several people,and had poked and pryed about all over the house in the
hope of arrivingat some knowledge of the substantial flesh and blood figures which castthem. But in this quest, which was intended to put money into her ownpocket, she failed entirely; and during the whole six months of Berwin'stenancy she never saw a living soul in No. 13 save her employer; norcould she ever find any evidence to show that Berwin had receivedvisitors during her absence. The man was as great a mystery to Mrs.Kebby as he was to the square, in spite of her superior opportunities oflearning the truth.
On Christmas Eve the old woman brought in a cold supper for Berwin, asusual, making several journeys to and fro between hotel and house forthat purpose. She laid the table, made up the fire, and before takingher leave asked Mr. Berwin if he wanted anything else.
"No, I think not," replied the man, who looked wretchedly ill. "You canbring my breakfast to-morrow."
"At nine, sir?"
"At the usual time," answered Berwin impatiently. "Go away!"
Mrs. Kebby gave a final glance round to see that all was in order, andshuffled out of the room as fast as her rheumatism would let her. As sheleft the house eight o'clock chimed from the steeple of a near church,and Mrs. Kebby, clinking her newly-received wages in her pocket, hurriedout of the square to do her Christmas marketing. As she went down thestreet which led to it, Blinders, a burly, ruddy-faced policeman, whoknew her well, stopped to make an observation.
"Is that good gentleman of yours home, Mrs. Kebby?" he asked, in theloud tones used to deaf people.
"Oh, he's home," grumbled Mrs. Kebby ungraciously, "sittin' afore thefire like Solomon in all his glory. What d'ye want to know for?"
"I saw him an hour ago," explained Blinders, "and I thought he lookedill."
"So he do, like a corpse. What of that? We've all got to come to it someday. 'Ow d'ye know but what he won't be dead afore morning? Well, Idon't care. He's paid me up till to-night. I'm going to enj'y myself, Iam."
"Don't you get drunk, Mrs. Kebby, or I'll lock you up."
"Garn!" grunted the old beldame. "Wot's Christmas Eve for, if it ain'tfor folk to enj'y theirselves? Y'are on duty early."
"I'm taking the place of a sick comrade, and I'll be on duty all night.That's my Christmas."
"Well! well! Let every one enj'y hisself as he likes," muttered Mrs.Kebby, and shuffled off to the nearest public house.
Here she began to celebrate the season, and afterwards went shopping;then she celebrated the season again, and later carried home herpurchases to the miserable garret she occupied. In this den Mrs. Kebby,with the aid of gin and water, celebrated the season until she drankherself to sleep.
Next morning she woke in anything but an amiable mood, and had tofortify herself with an early drink before she was fit to go about herbusiness.
It was almost nine when she reached the Nelson Hotel, and found thecovered tray with Mr. Berwin's breakfast waiting for her; so she hurriedwith it to Geneva Square as speedily as possible, fearful of a scolding.Having admitted herself into the house, Mrs. Kebby took up the tray withboth hands, and pushed open the sitting-room door with her foot. Here,at the sight which met her eyes, she dropped the tray with a crash, andlet off a shrill yell.
The room was in disorder, the table was overturned, and amid thewreckage of glass and china lay Mark Berwin, with outspread hands--stonedead--stabbed to the heart.