Paris together, and on such occasions it was believedthat young Lord Scarcliff played baccarat at a certain private house inthe Avenue Kleber and lost considerable sums. Tibbie had told me so inconfidence, but Jack naturally never mentioned his losses. If this weretrue, then it looked very much as though Ellice Winsloe was a shark, asmy friend Domville declared him to be.
In a London club a white shirt and well-cut evening clothes enables manya scoundrel to pass himself off as a gentleman. Few young men who comeinto their inheritance and lead the fevered life of the West End escapethe traps laid for them by those well-dressed blackguards who pose asfriends and advisers, and at the same time cleverly contrive to pluckthe pigeon. By some clever ruse or other they get him into their power,threatening exposure or the police for some fancied offence, and thenthe question of hush-money is mooted and the rest is so very easy. Thefly is caught in the net, and the spiders grow fat at their leisure.
Ask any official at Scotland Yard, and what he will reveal to youregarding this will surely astound you.
Sitting with Winsloe and listening to his clever chatter I was ratheramused than otherwise. Inwardly I laughed at his shrewd but futileefforts to obtain from me something concerning Tibbie.
We smoked a cigar, and about ten o'clock strolled along to the Empire,where we took a turn round the crowded grand circle. Varietyperformances, however, possess but little attraction for me, and we soonwent out again. In the vestibule a fair-moustached, bald-headed man inevening dress greeted my companion effusively, exclaiming,--
"Why, Ellice--actually! My dear old fellow, how are you?--how are you?"and he wrung his hand in warmest greeting.
"And you, Sidney! Who'd ever thought of finding you in town again?Why, I thought you were still somewhere up the Zambesi."
"Got back yesterday, my dear fellow. And not sorry either, I can tellyou. The surveying for the new railroad was a far tougher job than Ianticipated. I went down with fever, so they sent me home on sixmonths' leave."
"But you're all right now," Winsloe said, and then introduced his friendas Sidney Humphreys who, he explained, had been out in Africa inconnection with the Cape to Cairo railway.
"Where are you fellows going?" asked the newcomer.
"Home, I think," Winsloe replied. "Hughes doesn't care for ballets."
"Come round to my rooms and see the curios I've brought back," he urged."I've still kept on the old chambers. The things I've got were mostlydug out of the ruins of an ancient city--relics of the time of KingSolomon, I believe. You're fond of antiques, Ellice, so come and spendan hour and have a look at them. You'll be interested, I promise you,and I'd like to know your opinion."
Winsloe hesitated for a moment, then, turning to me, said,--
"You'll come too, won't you?"
At first I excused myself, for I was anxious to find Eric, but presentlyI allowed myself to be persuaded, for truth to tell, I, too, was veryfond of antiquities, and was therefore anxious to see this latest find.
We drove in a hansom along Regent Street, and then through several sidestreets, until presently we alighted before the door of a dark,respectable-looking house, into which Humphreys let us with hislatchkey.
"Go on up," he exclaimed, when we were in the hall. "You know your way,Ellice--the old rooms, second floor."
And so while he held back in the hall looking at some cards that hadbeen left, I climbed the broad old-fashioned stairs with Winsloe.
At the first landing my companion held back for me to go on before,laughing, and saying,--
"Go straight on--the room right before you," and compelling me to ascendfirst, he followed.
Suddenly I heard men's voices raised in angry altercation, apparentlyproceeding from another room, and what was more, I was struck by adistinct belief that one voice was Eric's. Yet surely that could not bepossible.
"I defy you!" I heard the voice cry. "Say no more. You hear! You maykill me, but I defy you!"
I halted, startled. The voice was so very like Eric's that I could havesworn it was his.
A sharp cry of pain--a man's cry--rang out from behind a closed door onthe landing I was approaching. Then there followed a long-drawn-outgroan, ending almost in a sigh.
A tragedy was being enacted there!
I clapped my hand upon the revolver I always carried in my hip-pocket,and went forward quickly, eager and puzzled, but just as I placed myfeet upon the last steps to gain the landing where the man's chamberswere, four or five of the stairs suddenly gave way beneath me, and Ifell feet foremost into the great yawning opening there revealed. I wasthe victim of a dastardly treachery!
I know that I clutched wildly at air when I felt myself falling down,down to what seemed an unfathomable depth. I held my breath, for atthat instant a man's wild shriek rang in my ears. Then next second Ifelt my skull crushed, and with it all consciousness became blotted out.
I was entrapped--helpless in the hands of quondam friends who werereally my bitterest and most unscrupulous enemies.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
IS EXTRAORDINARY.
The agony was excruciating. A burning bubbling seethed in my brain, asthough my skull were filled with molten metal. My mouth was parched, myneck stiff, and my jaws were fixed when I opened my eyes and foundmyself in a great chasm of cavernous darkness.
How long I had lain there I have no idea.
The thunder of rolling, roaring waters deafened me, and my lower limbswere so benumbed that at first I was unable to move them. I felt myleg, and then discovered the reason. Wet to the skin, I was lying halfin water, my head alone being on some slightly higher ground--afortunate circumstance that had certainly saved me from being drowned.
Where was I?
For fully ten minutes--minutes that seemed hours, I was utterly unableto move, but presently I managed, by dint of supreme effort, to struggleto my feet and grope about me unsteadily, at last finding a smootharched wall. I lifted my hand above my head and found that I couldtouch the roof.
In that pitch darkness, with the roaring torrent at my side, I dare notmove two paces lest I might lose my foothold.
I felt frantically in my pocket, and my heart leapt when I found that Istill possessed a box of wax vestas. The silver box was water-tight.One of these I struck quickly, but its light was lost in that cavernousblackness.
It only showed me the bricked walls, high to the roof, wet and slimy,and revealed to me that I was in one of the main sewers of London! Atmy side the great black torrent flowed on towards the outfall withdeafening roar in that long, interminable tunnel beneath the Metropolis.
Rats, hundreds of them, grey and scuttling, ran helter-skelter on seeingthe fickle light; but I stood motionless leaning against the wall andgazing around at my weird surroundings until the match went out. Myhead reeled, I feared to walk lest I should stagger into the Stygianstream.
Knowledge of where I was gave me courage, however. My head was verypainful with strange fancies dancing through my imagination. I thinkthat the blow had unbalanced my brain.
Which way should I turn? To right or left? Was mortal man ever in sucha predicament? I recognised the truth. I remembered one appallingfact. The scoundrels had sent me through into that deadly place,knowing that even if the fall did not kill me outright, I must bedrowned when, at regular intervals, the sewer was automatically flushed,and my body washed out to the Thames estuary.
I had seen the walls still wet to the roof from the last flushing, andas I recognised my awful peril, my blood ran cold. At any moment mightcome that gigantic flood to sweep me away into eternity in an instant.Somewhere, higher up, was that mechanism which at certain hours of dayand night automatically let loose the great sweeping wave through thelong, black tunnel sweeping to the sea, the cleansing of London.
My only hope was to find safety somewhere, therefore in frantic haste,all forgetful of the pain I was suffering, I turned to the right andgroped along the wall by aid of a match, the light of which was notsufficient to show t
he true dimensions of the sewer.
On, on, I went, how far I have no idea. It seemed to be miles. Mymatches burned only dimly, so bad was the air. Time after time I cameto side channels, small arches belching forth their black stream intothe roaring torrent like tributaries of a river, until I suddenly sawsomething white upon the wall, and, raising my match, discerned thepainted words: "Poland Street."
Then I knew that I was beneath Poland Street, close to Oxford Street.
I was in search of a manhole by which to ascend to the roadway, but,alas! could not discover one. A great terror seized me lest the flushshould come before I could gain a place of safety.
I was in the act of striking another match, in order to proceed morequickly, when I felt my head reeling, and in clutching at the wall forsupport the matchbox fell from my nerveless fingers into the water.
My disaster was thus complete. Without light how could I