Whatsoever a Man Soweth Part 40

"Is this the place you remember?" asked the inspector, s.h.i.+ning his bull's-eye around and revealing that we were at the bottom of a kind of circular well which had on either side two low arches or culverts. From the right the water rushed in with a swirling current, and by the opposite culvert it rushed out, gurgling and filling the arch almost to its keystone. I saw that all the black slimy masonry was of long flat stones--a relic of ancient London it seemed to be.

"This isn't the place where I found myself," I said, much surprised.

"No, I suppose not," remarked the inspector. "This is fresh water, from a spring somewhere, and through that ancient culvert there's probably a communication with the main sewer. When you fell, you were swept down there and out into the main sewer at once--like a good many others who have come down here. It's an awful death-trap. Look up there," and he shone his lamp above my head.

"Don't you see that a bar of iron has been driven into the wall--and driven there recently, too, or it would have rusted away long ago in this damp."

"Well?" I said, not quite following him.

"That's been put there so that the victims, in falling from the great height, should strike against it and be rendered unconscious before reaching the water. Look. There's a bit of white stuff on it now--like silk from a lady's evening dress!"

And sure enough I saw at the end of that iron bar a piece of white stuff fluttering in the draught, the grim relic of some unfortunate woman who had gone unconsciously to her death! The dank, gruesome place horrified me. Its terrible secrets held all three of us appalled. Even Pickering himself shuddered.

"To explore further is quite impossible," he said. "That culvert leads into the main sewer, so we must leave its exploration to the sewermen.

Lots of springs, of course, fall into the sewers, but the exact spots of their origin are unknown. They were found and connected when the sewers were constructed, and that's all. My own opinion," he added, "is that this place was originally the well of an ancient house, and that the blackguards discovered it in the cellar, explored it, ascertained that anything placed in it would be sucked down into that culvert, and then they opened up a way right through to the stairs."

The inspector's theory appeared to me to be a sound one.

I expressed fear of the rising of the water with the automatic flus.h.i.+ng of the sewers, but he pointed out that where we stood must be on a slightly higher level, judging from the way the water rushed away down the culvert, while on the side of the well there was no recent mark of higher water, thus bearing out his idea of a spring.

Edwards swarmed up the rope and managed to detach the piece of silk from the iron bar. When he handed it to us we saw that though faded and dirty it had been a piece of rich brocade, pale blue upon a cream ground, while attached was a tiny edging of pale blue chiffon--from a woman's corsage, Pickering declared it to be--perhaps a sc.r.a.p of the dress of the owner of that emerald necklet up above!

After a minute inspection of the grim ancient walls which rose from a channel of rock worn smooth by the action of the waters of ages, Pickering swarmed up the dangling rope, gained the ladder and climbed back again, an example which I quickly followed, although my legs were so chilled to the bone by the icy water that at first I found considerable difficulty in ascending.

Having gained the landing and been followed by Edwards, we drew up the ladder, removed the settle, allowed the fatal stairs to close again, and then bridged it over as before.

While we had been below Horton, who was a practised carpenter, had mended the latch of the front door, so that there should be no suspicion of our entry. We all clambered across the settle, descended the stairs to the bas.e.m.e.nt, and were soon engaged in searching the downstairs rooms and cellar. We had found that the communication between the head of the well and the top of the house was a roughly-constructed shaft of boards when, of a sudden, while standing at the foot of the kitchen stairs we were startled by hearing the sharp click of a key in the lock of the front door above.

In an instant we were silent, and stood together breathless and listening. The dark slide slipped across the bull's-eye.

It was truly an exciting moment.

Pickering, followed by Edwards and Marvin, crept noiselessly up the stairs, and while the person entering apparently had some difficulty with the lock they waited in the darkness.

I stood behind the inspector, my heart beating quickly, listening intently. It was an exciting moment standing ready in the pitch blackness of that silent house of doom.

The latch caught, probably on account of its recent disarrangement, but at last the key lifted it, the door opened, somebody entered the hall, and quietly re-closed the door.

Next instant Pickering sprang from his hiding-place, crying,--

"I arrest you on suspicion of being implicated in certain cases of wilful murder committed in this house!"

Horton at that same moment flashed his lamp full upon the face of the person who had entered there so stealthily, and who, startled by the dread accusation, stood glaring like some wild animal brought to bay, but motionless as though turned to stone.

The lamp-flash revealed a white, haggard countenance. I saw it; I recognised it!

A loud cry of horror and amazement escaped me. Was I dreaming? No. It was no dream, but a stern, living reality--a truth that bewildered and staggered me utterly--a grim, awful truth which deprived me of the power of speech.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

LIFTS THE VEIL.

The man under arrest was not, as I had expected, John Parham--but Eric Domville!

I stood glaring at him, utterly staggered.

Then I sprang forward to greet him--to welcome him as one returned from the grave, but next instant drew back. His face was changed--the expression upon it was that of terror--and of guilt!

"You are arrested," continued Pickering, in a calm, matter-of-fact way, adding that phrase of patter which is spoken each time a person is taken into custody, "and I warn you that whatever statement you may now make will be taken down in writing and used in evidence against you at your trial."

"I have no statement to make. I can do that later," faltered the unhappy man whom I had, until that moment, regarded as my warmest friend.

The revelation struck me of a heap. At first I was unable to realise that I was awake, and in my right senses, yet there Domville stood, with a detective on either side of him, crushed and resistless. He had not even denied the truth of Pickering's awful allegation.

Certainly in no man had I been more deceived them in him. I had given him hospitality; I had confided my secrets in him because we had been friends ever since our youth. Indeed, he had a.s.sisted me to s.h.i.+eld Sybil, and yet the police had charged him with implication in the grim tragedies that had undoubtedly been enacted within those silent walls where we now stood.

"Is this true, Domville?" I cried at last, when I found tongue.

"Speak."

"True!" he echoed, with a strange, sickly smile, but in a low, hoa.r.s.e tone. "The police are fools. Let them do as they like. They'll soon find out that they've got hold of the wrong man. You surely know me well enough, Wilfrid, not to believe these fellows without proof."

"Yes," I cried, "I do, Eric. I believe you are innocent, and I'll help you to prove it."

Pickering smiled, saying, "At present, Mr Hughes, we must send this gentleman round to the station. We may discuss his innocence later on."

Then turning to Edwards he said in quick, peremptory tones, "Get a cab, you and Marvin, and take him round to the station. Then come back here.

Tell Inspector Nicholls that I'll charge him myself when I come round."

"Yes, sir," replied the man, and ten minutes later the prisoner and the two detectives drove off in a four-wheeled cab.

"Pardon me, Mr Hughes," said Pickering, after he had gone, "but is it not injudicious to presuppose that man's innocence, especially when guilt is so plainly written on his face? Some men's faces are to us as open as the columns of a newspaper. That man's is. He is guilty--he is one of the gang. What proof have you that he is not?"

"He is my friend," I protested.

"And may he not be a criminal at the same time? Of many of our friends we are utterly unaware what lives they lead in secret. Charles Peace, the daring burglar, as you will probably remember, taught in a Sunday-school. Therefore, never judge a man by his outward profession, either of friends.h.i.+p or of piety."

"But I heard the villains threaten him in that upstairs room," I exclaimed. "He was in peril of his life."

"Because they had quarrelled--perhaps over the distribution of the spoils. Criminals more often than not quarrel over that, and in revenge give each other away to us. No, Mr Hughes, before you jump to any conclusion in this matter just wait a bit, wait, I mean, till we've concluded our inquiries. Depend upon it a very different complexion will soon be placed upon the whole affair."

Edwards and Marvin returned half an hour after wards.

"He made no statement," Edwards said. "He's one of 'em, that's certain."

"Why?" I asked. "How are you so positive?"

"Well, sir, we can generally pretty well tell, you know. He was a bit too resigned to be innocent."

Through the whole night, until the cold grey of the wintry dawn, we sat in the back sitting-room, with one single bull's-eye lantern turned on, awaiting the arrival of any of the others who might make a midnight visit there. I, of course, knew the addresses of both Parham and Winsloe, and had given them to Pickering; but he preferred that night to wait, and if possible arrest them actually in that house of doom.