VII
THE UTTERMOST FARTHING
Intense was the curiosity with which I turned to the last entry inHumphrey Challoner's "Museum Archives." Not that I had any doubt as tothe issue of the adventure that it recorded. I had seen the specimennumbered "twenty-five" in the shallow box, and its identity had longsince been evident. But this fact mitigated my curiosity not at all. The"Archives" had furnished a continuous narrative--surely one of thestrangest ever committed to writing--and now I was to read the climax ofthat romantically terrible story; to witness the final achievement ofthat object that my poor friend had pursued with such unswervingpertinacity.
I extract the entry entire with the exception of one or two passagesnear the end, the reasons for the omission of which will be obvious tothe reader.
"Circumstances attending the acquirement of the specimen numbered'twenty-five' in the Anthropological Series (A. Osteology. B. Reduceddry preparations).
"The months that followed the events connected with the acquirement ofthe specimens 23 and 24 brought me nothing but aching suspense and hopedeferred. The pursuit of the common criminal I had abandoned since I hadgot scent of my real quarry. The concussor lay idle in its basket; thecellar steps were greased no more. I had but a passive role to playuntil the hour should strike to usher in the final scene--if that shouldever be. Though the term of my long exile in East London was drawingnigh, its approach was unseen by me. I could but wait; and what isharder than waiting?
"I had made cautious inquiries among the alien population. But no oneknew Piragoff--or, at least, admitted any knowledge of him; and as tothe police, when they had made a few arrests and then released theprisoners, they appeared to let the matter drop. The newspapers were, ofcourse, more active. One of them described circumstantially how 'thethree anarchists who escaped from the house in Saul Street' had beenseen together in an East End restaurant; and several others followedfrom day to day the supposed whereabouts of a mysterious person known as'Paul the Plumber,' whom the police declared to be a picturesque myth.But for me there was one salient fact: of those three ruffians one wasstill at large, and no one seemed to have any knowledge of him.
"It was some four months later that I again caught up the scent. Acertain Friday evening early in February found me listlessly tidying upthe shop; for the Jewish Sabbath had begun and customers were few. Butabout eight o'clock a man strode in jauntily, hung up his hat and seatedhimself in the operating chair; and at that moment a second man enteredand sat down to wait. I glanced at this latter, and in an instant mygorge rose at him. I cannot tell why. To the scientific mind, intuitionsare abhorrent. They are mostly wrong and wholly unreasonable. But as Ilooked at that man a wave of instinctive dislike and suspicion sweptover me. He was, indeed, an ill-looking fellow enough. A broad,lozenge-shaped Tartar face, with great cheekbones and massive jaws; alow forehead surmounted by a dense brush of up-standing grayish-brownhair; beetling brows and eyes deep-set, fierce and furtive; combined tomake a sufficiently unprepossessing countenance. Nor was his manner morepleasing. He scowled forbiddingly at me, he scrutinized the othercustomer, craning sideways to survey him in the mirror, he looked aboutthe shop and he stared inquisitively at the parlor door. Every movementwas expressive of watchful, uneasy suspicion.
"I tried to avoid looking at him lest my face should betray me, and, todivert my thoughts, concentrated my attention on the other customer. Thelatter unconsciously gave me every assistance in doing so. Though by nomeans a young man, he was the vainest and most dandified client I hadever had under my hands. He stopped me repeatedly to give exhaustivedirections as to the effect that he desired me to produce. He examinedhimself in the glass and consulted me anxiously as to the exactdisposition of an artificially curled forelock. I cursed him inwardly,for I wanted him to be gone and leave me alone with the other man, butfor that very reason and that I might conceal my impatience, I did hisbidding and treated him with elaborate care. But now and again my glancewould stray to the other man; and as I caught his fierce, suspiciouseye--like the eye of a hunted animal--I would look away quickly lest heshould read what was in my mind.
"At length I had finished my dandy client. I had brushed his hair to anicety and had even curled his forelock with heated tongs. With a sighof relief I took off the cloth and waited for him to rise. But he rosenot. Stroking his cheek critically he decided that he wanted shaving,and, cursing him in my heart, I had to comply.
"I had acquired some reputation as a barber and, I think, deserved it. Icould put a perfect edge on a razor and I wielded the instrument with asensitive hand and habitual care. My client appreciated my skill andcomplimented me patronizingly in very fair English, though with a slightRussian accent, delaying me intolerably to express his approval. When Ihad shaved him he asked for pink powder to be applied to his chin; andwhen I had powdered him he directed me to shape his mustache with PateHongrois, a process which he superintended with anxious care.
"At last the fellow was actually finished. He got up from the chair andsurveyed himself in the large wall-mirror. He turned his head from sideto side and tried to see the back of it. He smiled into the mirror,raised his eyebrows, frowned and, in fact, tried a variety ofexpressions and effects, including a slight and graceful bow. Then heapproached the glass to examine a spot on his cheek; leaned against itwith outspread hands to inspect his teeth, and finally put out histongue to examine that too. I almost expected that he would ask me tobrush it. However, he did not. Adjusting his necktie delicately, hehanded me my fee with a patronizing smile and remarked, 'You are a goodbarber: you have taste and you take trouble. I give you a penny foryourself and I shall come to you again.'
"As the door closed behind him I turned to the other customer. He rose,walked over to the operating chair and sat down sullenly, keeping an eyeon me all the time; and something in his face expressive of suspicion,uneasiness and even fear seemed to hint at something unusual in my ownappearance.
"It was likely enough. Hard as I had struggled to smother the tumult ofemotions that seethed within me, some disturbance must have reached thesurface, some light in the eye, some tension of the mouth to tell of thefierce excitement, the raging anxiety, that possessed me. I was afraidto look at him for fear of frightening him away.
"Was he the man? Was this the murderer, Piragoff, the slayer of my wife?The question rang in my ears as, with a far from steady hand, I slowlylathered his face. Instinct told me that he was. But, even in myexcitement, reason rejected a mere unanalyzable belief. For what is anintuition? Brutally stated, it is simply a conclusion reached withoutpremises. I had always disbelieved in instinct and intuition and Idisbelieved still. But what had made me connect this man with Piragoff?He was clearly a Russian. He looked like a villain. He had the manner ofa Nihilist or violent criminal of some kind. But all this was nothing.It formed no rational basis for the conviction that possessed me.
"There was his hair; a coarse, wiry mop of a queer grayish-brown. Itmight well, from its color, be ringed hair; and if it was I should havelittle doubt of the man's identity. But was it? I was getting on inyears and could not see near objects clearly without my spectacles; andI had laid down my spectacles somewhere in the parlor.
"As I lathered his face, I leaned over him to look at his hair moreclosely, but he shrank away in fierce alarm, and after all my eyesightwas not good enough. Once I tried to get out my lens; but he challengedme furiously as to my object, and I put it away again. I dared notprovoke him to violence, for if he had struck me I should have killedhim on the spot. And he might be the wrong man.
"The operation of shaving him was beset with temptations from moment tomoment. Forgotten anatomical details revived in my memory. I foundmyself tracing through the coarse skin those underlying structures thatwere so near to hand. Now I was at the angle of the jaw, and as theringing blade swept over the skin I traced the edge of the strap-likemuscle and mentally marked the spot where it crossed the great carotidartery. I could even detect the pulsation of the vessel. How near it wasto t
he surface! A little dip of the razor's beak at that spot--
"But still I had no clear evidence that he was the right man. A mereimpression--a feeling of physical repulsion unsupported by any tangiblefact--was not enough to act on. One moment a savage impatience forretribution urged me to take the chance; to fell him with a blow andfling him down into the cellar. The next, my reason stepped in and bademe hold my hand and wait for proof. And all the time he watched me likea cat, and kept his hands thrust into the hip pockets of his coat.
"Again and again these mental oscillations occurred. Now I was simplyand savagely homicidal, and now I was rational--almost judicial. Now thevital necessity was to prevent his escape; and yet, again, I shrank fromthe dreadful risk of killing an innocent man.
"What the issue might have been I cannot say. But suddenly the dooropened, a burly carter entered and sat down, and the opportunity wasgone. The Russian waited for no lengthy inspection in the glass like hispredecessor. As soon as he was finished he sprang from the chair,slapped down his coppers in payment and darted out of the shop, only tooglad to take himself off in safety. There must have been something verysinister in my appearance.
"The carter seated himself in the chair and I fell to work on himmechanically. But my thoughts were with the man who was gone. What afiasco it had been! After waiting all these years, I had met a man whomI suspected to be the very wretch I sought; I had actually been alonewith him--and I had let him go!
"The futility of it! Before my eyes the grinning tenants of the greatwall-case rose in reproach; the little, impassive faces in those shallowboxes seemed to look at me and ask why they had been killed. I had letthe man go; and he would certainly never come to my shop again. True, Ishould know him again; but what better chance should I ever have ofidentifying him? And then again came the unanswerable question: Was hereally the man, after all?
"So my thoughts fluttered to and fro. Constant, only, was a feeling ofprofound dejection; a sense of unutterable, irretrievable failure. Thecarter--a regular customer--rose and looked askance at me as he rubbedhis face with the towel. He remarked that I 'seemed to be feeling a bitdull tonight,' paid his fee, and, with a civil 'good evening,' took hisdeparture.
"When he had gone I stood by the chair wrapped in a gloomy reverie. HadI failed finally? Was my long quest at an end with my object unachieved?It almost seemed so.
"I raised my eyes and they fell on my reflection in the large mirror;and suddenly it was borne in on me that I was an old man. The passingyears of labor and mental unrest had left deep traces. My hair, whichwas black when I first came to the east, was now snow-white and the facebeneath it was worn and wrinkled and aged. The sands of my life wererunning out apace. Soon the last grains would trickle out of the glass;and then would come the end--the futile end, with the task stillunaccomplished. And for this I had dragged out these twenty weary years,ever longing for repose and the eternal reunion! How much better to havespent those years in the peace of the tomb by the dear companion of mysunny hours!
"I stepped up to the glass to look more closely at my face, to mark thecrow's-feet and intersecting wrinkles in the shrunken skin. Yes, it wasan old, old face; a weary face, too, that spoke of sorrow and anxiousthought and strenuous, unsatisfying effort. And presently it would be adead face, calm and peaceful enough then; and the wretch who hadwrought all the havoc would still stalk abroad with his heavy debtunpaid.
"Something on the surface of the mirror interposed between my eye andthe reflection, slightly blurring the image. I focussed on it with somedifficulty and then saw that it was a group of finger-marks; the printsmade by the greasy fingers of my dandy customer when he had leaned onthe glass to inspect his teeth. As they grew distinct to my vision, Iwas aware of a curious sense of familiarity; at first merelysubconscious and not strongly attracting my attention. But this statelasted only for a few brief moments. Then the vague feeling burst intofull recognition. I snatched out my lens and brought it to bear on thoseastounding impressions. My heart thumped furiously. A feeling of awe, oftriumph, of fierce joy and fiercer rage surged through me, and mingledwith profound self-contempt.
"There could be no mistake. I had looked at those finger-prints toooften. Every ridge-mark, every loop and whorl of the varying patternswas engraved on my memory. For twenty years I had carried the slightlyenlarged photographs in my pocket-book, and hardly a day had passedwithout my taking them out to con them afresh. I had them in my pocketnow to justify rather than aid my memory.
"I held the open book before the glass and compared the photographs withthe clearly-printed impressions. There were seven finger-prints on themirror; four on the right hand and three on the left, and all wereidentical with the corresponding prints in the photographs. No doubt waspossible. But if it had been--
"I darted across to the chair. The floor was still littered with thecuttings from that villain's head. In my idiotic preoccupation with theother man I had let that wretch depart without a glance at his hair. Igrabbed up a tuft from the floor and gazed at it. Even to the unaidedeye it had an unusual quality when looked at closely; a soft, shimmeringappearance like that of some delicate textile. But I gave it only asingle glance. Then rushing through to the parlor, I spread a few hairson a glass slip and placed it on the stage of the microscope.
"A single glance clenched the matter. As I put my eye to theinstrument, there, straying across the circular field, were the broadgray stripes, each with its dark line of medulla obscured at intervalsby rings of tiny bubbles. The demonstration was conclusive. This was thevery man. Humanly speaking, no error or fallacy was possible.
"I stood up and laughed grimly. So much for instinct! For what foolscall intuition and wise men recognize for mere slipshod reasoning! Icould understand my precious intuition now; could analyze it into itstrumpery constituents. It was the old story. Unconsciously I had builtup the image of a particular kind of man, and when such a man appeared Ihad recognized him at a glance. The villainous Tartar face: I had lookedfor it. The fierce, furtive, hunted manner; the restless suspicion; themop of grayish-brown hair. I had expected them all, and there they were.My man would have those peculiarities, and here was a man who had them.He, therefore, was the man I sought.
"'O! good old "undistributed middle term!" How many intuitions havebeen born of you?'
"My triumph was short-lived. A moment's reflection sobered me. True, Ihad found my murderer; but I had lost him again. That bird of ill omenwas still a bird in the bush; in the tangled bush of criminal London. Hehad said that he would come to me again, and I hoped that he would. Butwho could say? Other eyes than mine were probably looking for him.
"I suppose I am by nature an optimist; otherwise I should not havecontinued the pursuit all these years. Hence, having mastered thepassing disappointment, I settled myself patiently to wait in the hopeof my victim's ultimate reappearance. Not entirely passively, however,for, after the shop was shut, I went abroad nightly to frequent theforeign restaurants and other less reputable places of the East End inthe hopes of meeting him and jogging his memory. The active employmentkept my mind occupied and made the time of waiting seem less long; butit had no further result. I never met the man; and, as the weeks passedwithout bringing him to my net, I had the uncomfortable feeling thathis hair must have grown and been trimmed by someone else; unless,indeed, he had fallen into the clutches of the law.
"Meanwhile I quietly made my preparations--which involved one or twovisits to a ship chandler's--and laid down a scheme of action. It wouldbe a delicate business. The villain was some fifteen years younger thanI; a sturdy ruffian and desperate, as I had seen. My own strength andactivity had been failing for some time now. Obviously I could not meethim on equal terms. Moreover, I must not allow him to injure me. Thatwas a point of honor. This was to be no trial by wager of battle. It wasto be an execution. Any retaliation by him would destroy the formal,punitive character which was the essence of the transaction.
"The weeks sped by. They lengthened into months. And still my visitor
made no appearance. My anxiety grew. There were times when I looked atmy white hair and doubted; when I almost despaired. But those timespassed and my spirits revived. On the whole, I was hopeful and waitedpatiently; and in the end my hopes were justified and my patiencerewarded.
"It was a fair evening early in June--Wednesday evening, Irecollect--when at last he came. Fortunately the shop was empty, andagain, oddly enough, it was some Jewish holiday.
"I welcomed him effusively. No fierce glare came from my eyes now. I wasdelighted to see him and he was flattered at the profound impression hisformer visit had made on me. I began very deliberately, for I couldhardly hold the scissors and was afraid that he would notice the tremor;which, in fact, he did.
"'Why does your hand shake so much, Mr. Vosper?' he asked in hisexcellent English. 'You have not been curling your little finger, hein?'
"I reassured him on this point, but used a little extra care until thetremor should subside; which it did as soon as I got over my firstexcitement. Meanwhile I let him talk--he was a boastful, egotisticaloaf, as might have been expected--and I flattered and admired him untilhe fairly purred with self-satisfaction. It was very necessary to gethim into a good humor.
"My terror from moment to moment was that some other customer shouldcome in, though a holiday evening was usually a blank in a businesssense until the Christian shops shut. Still, it was a serious dangerwhich impelled me to open my attack with as little delay as possible. Ihad several alternative plans and I commenced with the one that Ithought most promising. Taking advantage of a little pause in theconversation, I said in a confidential tone:
"'I wonder if you can give me a little advice. I want to find somebodywho will buy some valuable property without asking too many questionsand who won't talk about the deal afterwards. A safe person, you know.Can you recommend me such a person?'
"He turned in the chair to look at me. All his self-complacent smileswere gone in an instant. The face that looked into mine was the face ofas sinister a villain as I have ever clapped eyes on.
"'The person you mean,' he said fiercely, 'is a fence--a receiver. Whydo you ask me if I know a fence? Who are you? Are you a spy for thepolice? Hein? What should I know about receivers? Answer me that!'
"He glared at me with such furious suspicion that I instinctively openedmy scissors and looked at the neighborhood of his carotid. But I tookhis question quite pleasantly.
"'That's what they all say,' I remarked with a foolish smile.
"'Who do?' he demanded.
"'Everybody that I ask. They all say, "What should I know about fences?"It's very inconvenient for me.'
"'Why is it inconvenient to you?' he asked less savagely and withevidently awakening curiosity.
"I gave an embarrassed cough. 'Well, you see,' I said, 'it's this way.Supposing I have some property--valuable property, but of a kind that isof no use to me. Naturally I want to sell it. But I don't want it talkedabout. I am a poor man. If I am known to be selling things of value,people may make uncharitable remarks and busy-bodies may askinconvenient questions. You see my position?' Piragoff looked at mefixedly, eagerly. A new light was in his eye now.
"'What have you got?' he demanded.
"I coughed again. 'Aha!' I said with a smile. 'It is you who are askingquestions now.'
"'But you ask me to advise you. How can I if I don't know what you havegot to sell? Perhaps I might buy the stuff myself. Hein?'
"'I think not,' said I, 'unless you can write a check for four figures.But perhaps you can?'
"'Yes, perhaps I can, or perhaps I can get the money. Tell me what thestuff is.'
"I clipped away at the top of my speed--and I could cut hair veryquickly if I tried. No fear of his slipping away now. I had him fast.
"'It's a complicated affair,' I said hesitatingly, 'and I don't want tosay much about it if you're not in the line. I thought you might be ableto put me on to a safe man in the regular trade.'
"Piragoff moved impatiently, then glanced at the parlor door.
"'Anyone in that room?' he asked.
"'No,' I answered, 'I live here all alone.'
"'No servant! No one to look after you?' he asked the question withill-concealed eagerness.
"'No. I look after myself. It's cheaper; and I want so little.'
"The last statement I made in accordance with a curious fact that I haveobserved, which is that the really infallible method of impressing astranger with your wealth is to dilate on your poverty. The statementhad its usual effect. Piragoff fidgeted slightly, glanced at the shopdoor and said:
"'Finish my hair quickly and let us go in there and talk about this.'
"I chuckled inwardly at his eagerness. Even his personal appearance hadbecome a secondary consideration. I bustled through the rest of theoperation, whisked off the cloth and opened the parlor door. He rose,glanced at his reflection in the glass, looked quickly at the shop doorand followed me into the little room, shutting and bolting the doorafter him.
"I watched him closely. I am no believer in the rubbish calledtelepathy, but, by observing a person's face and actions, it is notdifficult to trace the direction of his thoughts. Piragoff gazed roundthe room with the frank curiosity of the barbarian, and the look ofpleased surprise that he bestowed on the safe and the way in which hisglance traveled from that object to my person were easy enough tointerpret. Here was an iron safe, presumably containing valuables, andhere was an elderly man with the key of that safe in his pocket. Thecorollary was obvious.
"'Is that another room?' he asked, pointing to the cellar door.
"I threw it open and let him look into the dark cavity. 'That,' I said,'is the cellar. It has a door opening into the back yard, which has agate that opens into Bell's Alley. It might be useful. Don't you thinkso?'
"He did think so; very emphatically, to judge by his expression. Veryuseful indeed when you have knocked down an old man and rifled hissafe, to have a quiet exit at the back.
"'Now tell me about this stuff,' said he. 'Have you got it here?'
"'The fact is,' I said confidentially, 'I haven't got it at all--yet'(his face fell perceptibly at this), 'but,' I added, 'I can get it whenI like; when I have arranged about disposing of it.'
"'But you've got a safe to keep it in,' he protested.
"'Yes, but I don't want to have it here. Besides, that safe won't holdit all, if I take over the whole lot.'
"Piragoff's eyes fairly bulged with greed and excitement.
"'What sort of stuff is it? Silver?'
"'There _is_ some silver,' I said, superciliously; 'a good deal, infact. But that's hardly worth while. You see this stuff is a collection.It belongs, at present, to one of those fools who collect jewelry andchurch plate; monstrances, jeweled chalices and things of that kind.'
"Piragoff licked his lips. 'Aha!' said he, 'I am that sort of foolmyself.' He laughed uneasily, being evidently sorry he had spoken, andcontinued:
"'And you can get all this when you want it, hein? But where is it now?'
"I smiled slyly. 'It is in a sort of private museum; but where thatmuseum is I am not going to say, or perhaps I may find it empty when Icall.'
"Piragoff looked at me earnestly. He had evidently written me down anabject fool--and no wonder--and was considering how to manage me.
"'But this place--this museum--it must be a strong place. How are yougoing to get in? Will you ring the bell?'
"'I shall let myself in with a latch-key,' I said jauntily.
"'Have you got the latch-key?'
"'Yes, and I have tried it. I had it from a friend who lives there.'
"Piragoff laughed outright. 'And she gave you the latch-key, hein?Ha-ha! but you are a wicked old man. And it is strange too.' He glancedfrom me to his reflection in the little mirror over the safe; and hisexpression said as plainly as words, 'Now, if she had given it to _me_,one could understand it.'
"'But,' he continued, 'when you are inside? The stuff will be locked up.You are skilful, perhaps? You can open a safe, fo
r instance? You havetried?'
"'No, I've never actually tried, but it's easy enough. I've often openedpacking cases. And I don't think there is an iron safe. They are woodencabinets. It will be quite easy.'
"'Bah! Packing cases!' exclaimed Piragoff. He grasped my coat sleeveexcitedly. 'I tell you, my friend, it is not easy. It is very difficult.I tell you this. I, who know. I am not in the line myself, but I have afriend who does these things and he has shown me. I have someskill--though I practice only for sport, you understand. It is verydifficult. You shall let yourself in, you shall find the stuff lockedup, you shall try to open the cabinet and you shall only make a greatnoise. Then you shall come away empty, like a fool, and the police shallset a watch on the house. The chance is gone and you have nothing.'
"I scratched my head like the fool that he thought me. 'That would berather awkward,' I admitted.
"'Awkward!' he exclaimed. 'It would be wicked! The chance of a lifetimegone! Now, if you take with you a friend who has skill--hein?'
"'Ah!' I said craftily, 'but this is _my_ little nest egg. If I take afriend I shall have to share.'
"'But there is enough for two. If your safe will not hold it, there ismore than you can carry. Besides, your friend shall not be greedy. If hetakes a third--or say a quarter? How much is the stuff worth?'
"'The collection is said to be worth a hundred thousand pounds.'
"'A hundred thousand!' gasped Piragoff. He was almost foaming at themouth. 'A hundred thousand! That would be twenty five for me--for yourfriend--and seventy-five for you. It is impossible for one man. Youcould not carry it. My friend,' again he grasped my sleeve persuasively,'I will come with you. I am very skilful. I am strong. I am brave. Youshall be safe with me. I will be your comrade and you shall give aquarter--or even less if you like.'
"He could afford to make easy terms--under the circumstances.
"I reflected awhile and at length said, 'Perhaps you are right. Some ofthe things are large and gold is heavy--we should leave the silver. Itwould take two to carry it all. Yes, you shall come with me and bringthe necessary tools. When shall we do it? Any night will do for me.'
"He reflected, with an air of slight embarrassment, and then asked:
"'Do you open your shop on Sunday?'
"The question took a load off my mind. I had been speculating on whatplan of action he would adopt. Now I knew. And his plan would suit me toa nicety.
"'No,' I said, 'I never open on Sunday.'
"'Then,' said he, 'we will do the job on Saturday night or Sundaymorning. That will give us a quiet day to break up the stuff.'
"'Yes. That will be a good arrangement. Will you come here on Saturdaynight and start with me?'
"'No, no!' he replied. 'That would never do. We must not be seentogether. Give me a rendezvous. We will meet near the place.'
"Quite so! It would never do for us to be seen together in Whitechapelwhere we were both known. The fact might be mentioned at the inquest. Itwould be most inconvenient for Piragoff.
"'And, look you,' he continued; 'wear a top-hat and good clothes; if youhave an evening suit, put it on. And bring a new Gladstone bag with someclothes in it. Where will you meet me?'
"I mentioned Upper Bedford Place and suggested half-past twelve, towhich he agreed; and, after sending me out to see that the coast wasclear, he took his leave, twisting his waxed mustache as he went out.
"I was, on the whole, very well pleased with the arrangement.Particularly pleased was I with Piragoff's transparent plan fordisposing of me. For, now that it really came to action, I found myselfshying somewhat at the office of executioner; though I meant to do myduty all the same. But the fact that this man was already arrangingcoolly to murder me made my task less unpalatable. The British sportinginstinct is incurable.
"Piragoff's scheme was perfectly simple. We should go together to thehouse, we should bring away the spoil--I carrying half--convey it to mypremises in Saul Street early on Sunday morning. Then we should break upthe 'stuff,' and when our labors were concluded, and I was of no furtheruse, he would knock me on the head. The quiet back gate would enable himto carry away the booty in instalments to his lodgings. Then he wouldlock the gate and vanish. In a few days the police would break into myhouse and find my body; and Mr. Piragoff, in his hotel at, sayAmsterdam, would read an account of the inquest. It was delightfullysimple and effective, but it failed to take into account the player onthe opposite side of the board.
"The interval between Wednesday and Saturday was a time of anxiousthought and considerable excitement. I went out every night, and hadthe pleasure of discovering that I was honored by the attendance--at alittle distance--of Mr. Piragoff. One evening only I eluded him, andwatched him drive off furiously in a hansom in pursuit of another hansomwhich was supposed to contain me. On that night I visited the museum.Not that I had anything special to do. My very complete and evenelaborate arrangements had been made some time before and I now had onlyto look them over and see that they were in going order; to test, forinstance, the brass handle that was connected with the electric main,and see that the well-oiled blocks of a couple of purchase tackles ransmoothly and silently. Everything was in working trim, even to theconcussor, stowed out of sight, but within easy reach, in its narrowbasket.
"Saturday night arrived in due course. I shut up the shop at nine, puton evening clothes, took the newly-purchased Gladstone and hailed ahansom. I drove, in the first place, to the Criterion Restaurant anddined delicately but substantially, carefully avoiding indigestibledishes. From the restaurant I drove to the museum, where I loitered,making a final inspection of my arrangements, until twenty-five minutespast twelve. Then I came forth and walked quietly to Upper BedfordPlace.
"As I turned the corner and looked down the wide thoroughfare the longstretch of pavement contained but a single figure; a dim, dark blot onthe gray of the summer night. It moved towards me, and, resolving itselfinto a definite shape, showed me Piragoff in evening dress, enveloped ina voluminous overcoat and carrying a small hand-bag.
"'You are punctual, Vosper,' he said graciously. 'Shall we make ourvisit now? Is the house quiet yet? These are not, you see.' He nodded atthe boarding-houses that we were passing, several of which still showedlights in the windows.
"'Our house has settled down,' I answered. 'The collector is an earlybird. I have just been past it to see that all the lights were out.'
"We walked quickly across the square towards the neighborhood of myhouse. Piragoff was very affable. He conversed cheerfully as we wentand gave a pleasant 'Good night' to a policeman, who touched his helmetcivilly in response. When I halted at the door of the museum, he lookedabout him with a slight frown.
"'I seem to know this place,' he murmured. 'Yes, I have been herebefore; many years ago. Yes, yes; I remember.'
"He laughed softly as if recalling an amusing incident. I set my teeth,inserted the key and pushed the door open.
"'Enter,' I said. He stepped into the hall. I followed and softly closedthe door, slipping up the catch as the lock clicked. It was a smallprecaution, but enough to hinder a hasty retreat.
"I piloted him through to the museum and switched on a single electriclamp which filled the great room with a ghostly twilight. Piragofflooked about him inquisitively and his eye fell on the long wall-casewith the dimly-seen, pallid shapes of the company within it. His faceblanched suddenly and he stared with wide-open eyes.
"'God!' he exclaimed, 'what are those things?'
"'Those skeletons?' said I. 'They are part of the collection. Thefellow who owns this place hoards all sorts of trash. Come round andhave a look at them.'
"'But skeletons!' he whispered. 'Skeletons of men! Ah, I do not likethem!'
"Nevertheless he followed me round the room, peering in nervously at thecase of skulls as we passed. I walked him slowly past the whole lengthof the wall-case and he stared in at the twenty-four motionless, whitefigures, shuddering audibly. I must admit that their appearance was verystriking in that feeble light
; their poses were so easy and natural andtheir faces, modeled by broad shadows, so singularly expressive. I wasvery pleased with the effect.
"'But they are horrible!' gasped Piragoff. 'They seem to be alive. Theyseem to beckon to one--to say, "Come in here: come in and stay with us."Ah! they are dreadful! Let us go away from them.'
"He stole on tiptoe to the other side of the room and stood positivelyshaking; shaking at the sight of a mere collection of dry bones. It wasamazing. I have often been puzzled by the odd, superstitious fear withwhich ignorant people view these interesting and beautiful structures.But surely this was an extreme case. Here was a callous wretch who wouldmurder without a scruple a young and lovely woman and laugh at therecollection of the atrocity. And he was actually terrified at the sightof a few irregularly-shaped fragments of phosphate of lime and gelatine.I repeat, it was amazing.
"Piragoff recovered only to develop the ferocity of a frightenedruffian.
"'Where is the stuff, fool?' he demanded. 'Show it to me quickly or Iwill cut your throat. Quick! Let us get it and go.'
"I watched him warily. These neurotic Slav criminals, when they get intoa state of panic, are like frightened cats; very dangerous to be near.And the more frightened, the more dangerous. I must keep an eye onPiragoff.
"'I can open one of the cabinets,' I said.
"'Then open it, pig! Open it quickly! I want to get away from thisplace!'
"He grinned at me like an angry monkey, and I led him to the secretcupboard. As I very deliberately turned the hidden catches and preparedto take out the panel, I considered whether it was not time to set theapparatus going. For I had prepared a little surprise for Piragoff and Iwas now rather doubtful how he would take it. Besides, I was notenjoying the proceedings as much as I had expected to. Piragoff's lackof nerve was disconcerting.
"However, I took out the panel and stood by to watch the result.Piragoff peered into the cupboard and uttered a growl of disappointment.
"'There is nothing there but books and those boxes. Lift the boxes down,pig, and let us see what is in them.'
"I lifted the boxes from the shelf.
"'They are very light,' I said. 'And here are two pistols on top ofthem.'
"These pistols were the surprise that I had prepared in a spirit ofmischief. I had taken them from the pockets of the last two specimensand kept them for the sake of the devices that those two imbeciles hadscratched on the butts.
"'Pistols!' exclaimed Piragoff. 'Let me look at them.' He snatched theweapons from the top of the box and took them over to the lamp.Immediately I heard a gasp of astonishment.
"'God! But this is a strange thing! Here is Louis Plotcovitch's pistol!And this other belonged to Boris Slobodinsky! They have been here too!'
"He stared at me open-mouthed, holding the pistols--which I hadcarefully unloaded--one in each trembling hand. What little nerve he hadhad was going fast.
"I laid the boxes on a small table and switched on the lamp that hungclose over it. High up above the table was one of the cross-beams of theroof. From the beam there hung down two purchase-tackles. The tail-ropeof each tackle ended in a noose that was hitched on a hook on the wall,and the falls of the two tackles were hitched lightly over two otherhooks. But none of these appliances was visible. The shaded lamp threwits bright light on the table only.
"Piragoff came across the room and laid down the pistols.
"'Open those boxes,' he said gruffly, 'and let us see what is in them.'
"I took off the lid of one; and Piragoff started back with a gasp, butcame back, snuffing at the box like a frightened animal.
"'What the devil are these things?' he demanded in a hoarse whisper.
"'They look like dolls' heads,' I answered.
"'They look like dead men's heads,' he whispered, shudderingly, 'onlythey are too small. They are dreadful. This collector man is a devil. Ishould like to kill him.' He glared with horrid fascination at thelittle dry preparations--there were eight in this box, each in its ownlittle black velvet compartment with its number and date on the label. Iopened the second box--also containing eight--and he stared into thatwith the same shuddering fascination.
"'What do you suppose these dates mean?' he whispered.
"'I suppose,' I replied, 'those are the dates on which he acquired them.Here is another box.' This, the last one, was intended to hold nineheads, but it contained only eight--at present. There was an emptycompartment of red velvet in the middle, on either side of which werethe heads of the last two specimens, twenty-three and twenty-four.
"I took off the lid and stood back to see what would happen.
"Piragoff stared into the box without speaking for two or three seconds.Suddenly he uttered a shriek. 'It is Boris! Boris and LouisPlotcovitch!'
"His figure stiffened. He stood rigid with his hands on his thighs,leaning over the box, his hair bristling, his white face running withsweat, his jaw dropped; the very personification of horror. And of asudden he began to tremble violently.
"I looked at him with disgust and an instantaneous revulsion of feeling.What! Should I call in the aid of all those elaborate appliances todispatch a poor trembling devil like this? I would have none of them.The concussor was good enough for him. Nay, it was too good.
"I reached out behind me and lifted one of the nooses from its hook. Itsown weight had nearly closed the loop, for the steel eyelet splicedinto the end ran very easily and smoothly on the well-greased rope. Iopened the loop wide, and leaning towards Piragoff from behind, quietlydropped it over his shoulders, pulling it tight as it fell to the levelof his elbows. He sprang up, but at that instant I kicked away one ofhis feet and pushed him to the unsupported side, when he fell sprawlingface downwards. I gave another tug at the rope, and, as he struggled toget to his feet, I snatched the fall of the tackle from its hook and ranaway with it, hauling as I went. Looking back, I saw Piragoff slowlyrise to the pull of the tackle until he was upright with his feet justtouching the floor. Then I belayed the fall securely to one of a pair ofcleats, and approached him.
"Hitherto, sheer amazement had kept him silent, but as I drew near himhe gave a yell of terror. This would not do. Taking the gag from theplace where I had hidden it in readiness, I came behind him and slippedit over his mouth where I secured it, cautiously evading his attempts toclutch at me. It was a poor gag--having no tongue-piece--but itanswered its purpose, for it reduced his shouts to mere muffledbellowings, inaudible outside.
"Now that the poor wretch was pinioned and gagged and helpless, myfeelings urged me to get the business over quickly. But certainformalities had to be observed. It was an execution. I stepped in frontof the prisoner and addressed him.
"'Listen to me, Piragoff.' At the sound of his name he stopped bellowingand stared at me, and I continued, 'Twenty years ago a burglar came tothis house. He was in the dining-room at two o'clock in the morningpreparing to steal the plate. A lady came into the room and disturbedhim. He tried to prevent her from ringing the bell. But she rang it; andhe shot her dead. I need not tell you, Piragoff, who that burglar was.But I will tell you who I am. I am the husband of that lady. I have beenlooking for you for twenty years, and now I have caught you; and youhave got to pay the penalty of that murder.'
"As I ceased speaking he broke out into fresh bellowings. He wagged hishead from side to side and the tears coursed down his ghastly face. Itwas horrible. Trembling, myself, from head to foot, I took the secondnoose from its hook, passed it over his head and quickly adjusted it.Then I snatched the second fall and walked away with it, gathering inthe slack. As the rope tightened in my hand the bellowings suddenlyceased. I never looked back. I continued to haul until I felt thetackle-blocks come together. I belayed the rope to the second cleat andset a half-hitch on the turns. Then I walked out of the museum and shutthe door.
"It had been very different from what I had anticipated. As I sat by thelaboratory table with my head buried in my hands, I shook as if I had anague; my skin was bathed in a cold sweat and I felt that i
t would havebeen a relief to weep. I was astonished at myself. Twenty-four of thesevermin had I exterminated with a light heart, because the blow was dealtin the heat of conflict; and now, because this wretch had been helplessand unresisting, I was nearly broken with the effort of dispatching him.
"I sat in the dark laboratory slowly recovering and thinking of thelong years that had slipped away since the hand of this miscreant hadrobbed me of my darling. Gradually I grew more calm. But fully an hourpassed before I could summon resolution to go back into the museum andsatisfy myself that the long-outstanding debt had indeed been paid atlast to the uttermost farthing.
"On Monday morning I withdrew from my bank a hundred pounds in notes,which I handed to my landlord's widow--Mr. Nathan had died some yearspreviously--with a note surrendering the shop and house in Saul Street.I emptied the safe and brought away such things as I cared to keep,leaving the rest for Mrs. Nathan. Then I shaved off my ragged beard andwhite mustache, set my Bloomsbury house in order, pensioned off thesergeant-major (who was now growing an old man) and engaged a set ofrespectable servants. When the last specimen was finished and put in itsplace in the museum, my work was done. I had now only to wait quietlyfor the end. And for that I am now waiting, I hope not impatiently.
"Something tells me that I have not long to wait. Certain new andstrange sensations, which I have discussed with my friend Dr. Wharton,seem to herald a change. Wharton makes light of them, but I think andhope he is mistaken. And in that hope I rest content; believing thatsoon I shall hear the curfew chime steal out of the evening mist to tellme that the day is over and that my little spark may be put out."
THE END
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