Whether it was the actual physical torture that I had endured those long hours under the burning sun, or whether it was the long and uninterrupted time that I had been given up to the horror of my own thoughts, I do not know, but at any rate from that Sunday evening I never had the very slightest desire to partake of the drug again.
Not only was I quite freed from its desire, but in forty-eight hours after the last dose was as sane1 and rational as I had ever been in my life.
The strange part of it was, too, that it had apparently2 left no evil after-effects on my mind. All the dreadful impulses and desires that had come to me with its use had all utterly3 passed away, leaving only the good qualities that I had derived4 from it behind.
Like a tornado5, it had passed into me, with its mania6, its confidence and its lust7 of crime, and like a tornado, too, it had passed away, leaving only its great confidence and strength behind.
Something of the power and sweetness of life had come to me in the intervals8 of that dreadful time, and the grasp I had had of them I did not relax now that I was sane again.
At first I had no great remorse9 at all. I was only very sorry for all the dreadful things that I had done, and very frightened, too, that I might possibly be found out, but I did not somehow blame myself. I blamed the drug, and just regarded myself as an unhappy instrument in the hands of Fate. I believed it had been ordained10 that all these crimes should happen, and I had simply been the unfortunate one chosen to carry them out.
I was terribly afraid of punishment, because now I had so much to live for, and I was determined11 to use to the very utmost all those new-born faculties12 that I had acquired to escape the penalties that I knew would at once follow, were I once found out.
I was quite aware that Meadows suspected me, and knew it could be only a matter of days, perhaps almost of hours, before his suspicion took some practical and unpleasant form. But I was not in the very slightest degree unnerved, and I was quite prepared to deal with any situation that might arise, with coolness, courage, and resource.
After all, I thought, they could never have anything definite against me. They might suspect, suspect, and suspect, but that would be as far as they would ever get. I couldn’t see how any actual proof existed anywhere.
So I started to live out my daily life, just as if no crimes, so far as I was concerned, had ever happened at all — and looking back now, I really don’t think I was very much worried in the early days that followed.
But in the meanwhile, I soon got news in many ways that the authorities were very busy.
On the morning after I had been up to Prospect13 with Mr. William in the car, I had a call at the office, from Mr. Sam Podsley. He, of course, knew that I worked for Winter and Winter, and he had no scruples14 at all about calling upon me there.
He was quite friendly and as voluble as ever.
“That was a real treat, Mr. Wacks,” he said heartily15, “you taking us all down yesterday. I enjoyed it immensely, although it showed us all up as a lot of mugs. Oh! how waxy16 the police were! You should have heard the slating17 the Chief Commissioner18 gave them, after you had gone. He called them swabs, and told them it was a disgrace that they should be shown their business by a paltry19 little office clerk. You don’t mind my telling you, do you?”
“Not at all — not at all,” I replied laughing, “I’m very interested. Go on — tell me everything that happened.”
“Nothing much more, except that the dark, thin chap, Meadows, I think they called him, was most anxious for my friend Biggar’s address. Biggar was the chap, you remember, who met the white-faced man coming out of the gate.”
“Well,” I said feeling a little bit uncomfortable, “but Biggar said he wouldn’t recognise him again, didn’t he?”
“Sure, he said he wouldn’t know him from me except that he was white-faced, and thin. But, Lord! these police are messers any way. Just hear what’s been and happened today.
“At ten minutes to seven this morning the darned telephone bell started to ring like blazes. I was in bed, but, of course, hopped20 out at once. It was a message from the police station in Victoria Square, and a pretty curt21 one, too. They were sending up two men to look over the house, and would I please afford them all facilities, &c. Of course, I said ‘yes,’ and told Mrs. Sam they were coming. She was in an awful state at once — you know what women are — and said the place wasn’t fit for anyone to see. Such a lot of people have been messing about, these last two days. So up she gets in an awful hurry, and commences to clean up. She washes all round the verandah, and pays special attention to the verandah post, up which that beggar must have climbed; several of us had shinned up yesterday, to show how easily it could be done.
“Well, hardly had she finished, and before even any of it was really dry, up come two strange chaps with the detective fellow Meadows, again! What do you think they came for? — Finger-prints, my boy, finger-prints. Oh! wasn’t there just a rumpus. My wife had been and washed them all out! You should have seen their faces and the scowl22 that detective had. I tell you their jaw23 just put my back up and I told them so, straight.”
“‘Why the tarnation didn’t you say what you were coming up for, and everything would have been all right,’ I told them. It’s just that damn secretive want of confidence in anybody, that always spoils the police. One thing, they didn’t stop long when I answered back.”
“Did they take any photographs,” I asked, a great deal more interested than he imagined.
“Not a damn one,” he replied, picking up his hat, “they never even undid24 their bag of tricks. But I must be going now, Mr. Wacks, I’m in the building line, you know, and fairly pushed just now. If you ever want a cozy25 home, by-the-by, just ring up Sam Podsley — will you? I’ll do you well, I promise, and throw in a couple of coats of paint or so for the pleasure you have given me over this affair. Good-bye — my boy — good-bye,” and off he trotted26 in high good humor with himself.
His visit set me wondering what another near escape I must have had. I had never thought of finger-prints and there were sure to have been some on the verandah post before the energetic Mrs. Podsley had washed them off. Thank goodness, I thought, there would have been none on the roof — the Sunday evening rain would have seen to that. What a sell for Meadows again.
Meadows — on and off — was a lot in my thoughts that day, and directly I got home that evening he loomed27 up large again.
He had been searching my bedroom. I was quite certain about it the very moment I first opened the door. I have always a very keen sense of smell and the room smelt28 as if it had been lately occupied; stuffy29 and close.
It had been a piping hot day and Mrs. Bratt was always most particular, as I knew, to keep all the doors and windows tightly closed until well after sundown, to keep out the heat.
There was a strange smell about that did not belong to me. I opened the door of my cupboard, where I kept my clothes. Exactly, they had all been moved and taken off their pegs31.
I had expected something of this was going to happen, and, in preparation for it, had that morning most carefully noted32 the position of all belongings33 in the room. My coat and trousers I had hung up in a certain way and my boots and shoes, although apparently all carelessly disposed, had each their own particular and peculiar34 position that I had impressed upon my mind.
Everything had been moved and examined. Even the linoleum35 on the floor had been lifted up all round the edges and the grating in the chimney had been taken down.
I made a most interested and careful scrutiny36 of everything to see how far he might have gone, but nothing seemed to have been altered or abstracted until almost at the last, I found something had been done to the heels of my two pairs of shoes.
It was only a very little thing, and if I had not been looking purposely for something of the kind I should not have stood the ghost of a chance of noticing it.
A little piece of each heel, where it faced the instep, had been sharply cut away on one side. It was only a very little piece that had been taken out, but it made the heel unsymmetrical, and to anyone who was expressly looking for it the impression of the heel would make in the ground would very easily be recognised anywhere, out of many thousands of others.
Evidently, I thought, friend Meadows hoped to find this peculiar imprint37 of my heel upon the scene of some future crime.
My discoveries amused me not a little, but at the same time, they brought home to me the determined nature of the man I had up against me.
I didn’t go to head-quarters at all that evening. I knew Meadows would be expecting me to go up there as usual, and would probably be arranging to have me followed for the night.
I went to see Lucy and took her out for a walk in the dark.
Dear little Lucy; she flushed so prettily38 when she saw me, and when I bent39 to kiss her she strained me close and whispered she had been wanting me all day.
“You know, dear,” she said later with her face very near to mine. “I didn’t want anyone at all, until the day you put your arms round me for the first time. Then the way you kissed me gave me such delicious thrills, and I seem to have been quite different ever since. When I don’t see you now, I’m so lonely and unsatisfied, and I just long for you to come every evening.”
I kissed her fondly as we sat under the trees in the park, and full of delightful40 thoughts we brooded over all the happiness that would be ours when we were married. I wanted our marriage to come very soon and with sighs and trembling and long silences, Lucy, at length, agreed it should be just after Easter, in about six weeks.
I was radiantly happy with Lucy all that evening and, turning into bed just before eleven o’clock, my last waking thoughts were of the sweet, gentle face that for so long had been upturned to mine.
I couldn’t have slept much more than an hour, however, when I was suddenly awakened41 by someone quickly turning the handle of my door, and before I had time even to call out, in my surprise, up went the light, and I saw Meadows standing42 just inside the room.
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Wacks,” he said, staring hard at me and looking very startled and surprised, “but you called, didn’t you?”
“No, I never called,” I gasped43 out, half-choking with the fright of seeing him in my room. “I was fast asleep. Oh, how you frightened me! What on earth do you mean?”
“Someone shouted, and I thought it was you. Don’t you lock your door at night, though?”
“Of course I don’t,” I replied crossly, my anger at once beginning to get the better of my fear. “The hall door’s always locked, isn’t it?”
“Yes — that’s right enough but still,” and he shrugged44 his shoulders and let his eyes rove round the room.
What the devil does he want? I thought. He never believed he had heard me shout. He just thought I shouldn’t be home yet, and for some reason, wanted to see into my room. What was his game?
I watched him narrowly. He seemed in no hurry to go away, and went on talking with an assumption of friendliness45 that sat awkwardly on him.
“Well, I’m very sorry I disturbed you. I was just off to bed myself, but made sure you called out; perhaps it was in your sleep anyhow.”
I didn’t trouble to answer, but just sat up in bed and yawned fearfully, as a hint for him to go.
He picked up a pair of shoes that were lying on a chair at the end of the bed. They were the ones I had worn that evening and I had left them just as I had taken them off.
“Nice shoes these, Mr. Wacks,” he said, and he put his hand right inside one and turned it round and upside down, to the light. “I must get a pair like these when my courting times come. Can’t afford them now; we poor policemen have to be content with this heavy stuff the Government gives us.”
Oh, the great ninny, I thought. If I weren’t suspicions already, the way he was carrying on would soon make me so. Of course, he was putting his hand in the shoe to see, if by any chance, I had just taken it off and it were still warm.
“Well, good-night,” he said, after a long minute’s pause. “I hope you’ll get to sleep again soon,” and he pulled the door clumsily to and went off in the direction of his own room.
But I didn’t go off again to sleep soon. His visit was worrying me, and, puzzle as I would, I could think of no reason for his coming to my room. He must have been quite certain, I thought, that he wouldn’t find me there, for he had burst in so cocksure, and switched on the light as if he were absolutely sure of his ground.
I gave up thinking at last, and dropped off uneasily into sleep, but this time it was Meadows’s ugly face, and not Lucy’s pretty one, that came to me in my dreams.
Directly I woke next morning, I started puzzling again, but I had not to puzzle for long. The answer to the riddle46 came to me before even I had started dressing47.
There was an imperative48 knock on the hall door and Mrs. Bratt came hurriedly to tell me there was a gentleman who wanted to speak to me at once, very urgently.
I went out into the hall, just as I was, in socks and pyjamas49, and found it was Spicer, one of the Woodville patrol men. He looked very white and scared.
“Mr. Matthew Russell’s killed,” he burst out abruptly50, “last night at Woodville — by the Baptist Chapel51 on the Port Road. He was bludgeoned on the head. When we found him he was still alive, but he died without speaking. The beast who killed him rifled his pockets this time; they had all been turned out and most of his things taken.”
Matthew Russell killed! A black film came over my eyes. He was one of the most influential52 members of the city patrol, and one of the most loyal friends I had. He was one of the best known men in the Stock Exchange and a very rich one too. He had taken up his share of patrolling the city in a fine spirit of loyalty53 to the community and had worked as hard and as unobtrusively as the humblest clerk in his employ.
The news stunned54 me and I could not say a word.
“I knew it would shock you, Mr. Wacks,” went on Spicer feelingly. “I won’t stop now, but I thought you ought to know immediately.”
I went back slowly into my bedroom, and then a sudden and horrible fear struck through me.
Had I killed him, I thought? Had I done it unconsciously? Had I got up again after I had gone to bed, and with the baleful drug still stirring in me, gone out anew on that fearful quest of blood?
I covered my face with my hands and tried hard to think. I knew I had come home directly after leaving Lucy, and remembered distinctly going straight to bed. I remembered, too, carefully brushing my clothes, putting my trousers on the stretcher, and hanging up my jacket methodically upon its particular peg30.
Hurriedly and anxiously I opened the cupboard door.
Yes, there they all were — just as I had left them, and not a speck55 of dust upon them anywhere. No, I could not possibly have left the house again, and this time, at any rate, my conscience was clear.
I closed my eyes in the thankfulness and relief of it all.
But who could have done it if not I? Was there a new murderer abroad and were yet more horrors now to descend56 upon this poor, bowed, stricken city?
I could not understand it.
Then, I suddenly remembered Meadows, and the reason for his midnight visit stood out clear.
He had heard of this new crime, and rushing quickly here had expected to find my room empty, with me away somewhere, to come home, however, later, and, no doubt, to exhibit on me traces of this new deed of blood that he was quite sure I had done.
He would have been waiting for me with adequate help, and, of course, would have thought to catch me red-handed, for sure, this time.
I wondered grimly what he would make of it now.
Matthew Russell was buried next day and, as was his right, the city of Adelaide accorded him a public funeral.
All business places were closed during the burial hour, and the ceremony was one of impressive pomp and solemnity.
All the special patrol men were on duty, and, with over five hundred of them in the procession, the city, perhaps for the first time, realised the extent of the organisation57 we had built up.
They marched six deep, white-armletted, and with their patrol officers at the side.
I was alone in front of them all, just behind the Government officers and the official dignitaries of the State.
The streets were lined with solemn and silent crowds.
I had no pride, however, in the prominent position in which I had been placed.
I was uneasy and choked with grief, only thinking of the horror of it all.
As we passed up King William Street, the mournful strains of the Dead March came up softly on the air. Brooding — beautiful and rich in dreadful sadness — they struck like a surgeon’s knife into my composure, and I burst impulsively58 into tears.
I pulled my face up rigidly59, but the tears blinded me, and I could hardly see which way to walk.
The crowd could not but notice how deeply I was affected60, and I could hear mutters of sympathy as I passed along.
I suddenly hated myself for it all. This was not my deed of blood, I knew — but it was surely my weakness in first tasting the paste that had led to it, and morally I felt I was responsible for it all.
When the funeral was over, and just before the patrol men were dismissed, an impulse that I could not resist came over me to address them.
They stood round me in a hollow square and, speaking solemnly to them, I tried to put some of the beauty of the dead man’s life into words. I told them that we had just laid to rest a great and good man. Great, because he had put his public duty before his private ease, and good, because he was unselfish and thought of others before himself. He had been rich, as riches went in this world, and it would have been easy for him to have shown his appreciation61 of our work by just handing over a sum of money which he wouldn’t in any way have felt, and have left the hard part for someone else to do. But no; he had felt it was an hour when the individual duty of everyone was called for, and unstintingly and ungrudgingly he had given of his best for the common weal. He had come down amongst us, night after night, to work as we all had worked and to take on the risks that we all had taken on. Perhaps, to none of us had life been sweeter than it must have been to him, and perhaps to none of us had it given greater or more generous gifts. Yet — and yet — he had given us everything, even as those of us who had least in life to cling to.
He had offered all and in return had met a dreadful death. We must remember that. The memory of his death must be an inspiration and an added incentive62 to all of us to lift for ever the dark and dreadful cloud that for so long now had hung over our fair city. We must avenge63 our dead.
I spoke64 for about ten minutes, and every word came from the sorrow and sincerity65 of my own heart. Not even the baleful and malevolent66 face of Meadows, whom I noted standing within earshot all the time, could detract, even ever so little from the earnestness that I really felt.
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1
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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2
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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3
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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5
tornado
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| n.飓风，龙卷风 | |
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mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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8
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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9
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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10
ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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11
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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12
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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13
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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14
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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waxy
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| adj.苍白的；光滑的 | |
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slating
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| 批评 | |
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commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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cozy
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| adj.亲如手足的，密切的，暖和舒服的 | |
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trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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28
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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linoleum
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| n.油布，油毯 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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39
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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40
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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41
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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42
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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43
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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44
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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45
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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46
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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47
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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48
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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49
pyjamas
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| n.（宽大的）睡衣裤 | |
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50
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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52
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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53
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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54
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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56
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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organisation
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| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
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58
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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62
incentive
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| n.刺激；动力；鼓励；诱因；动机 | |
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63
avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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64
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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