It was the Evening Record with a “screamer” head and two hundred words of black-face type. Lanagan swept through it in a comprehensive flash. With more speed than was his custom he thereupon dressed.
“Swanson!” he said. “Gad, what a story!”
He sat on the edge of the bed, more leisurely8 to roll a brown-paper cigarette and read the story more carefully. Stripped of flaring10 headlines, it was as follows:
“All hope for the safety of Captain Robert Swanson, the retired12 millionaire shipping13 man who disappeared on Wednesday evening, was dissipated this morning, shortly after 9.30 o’clock, when the body of the well-known philanthropist was found in a subcellar room in the notorious Palace Hotel in Chinatown.
[Pg 210]“Death was due to strangulation.
“Life had probably been extinct three days, and it is the police theory that Captain Swanson went directly to the hotel or was lured14 there on the evening of his disappearance15.
“His watch and valuables were found on his person.
“So far as a hasty examination could discover no one saw him enter the hotel, which bears an evil reputation and is occupied by the lowest type of denizen16 of Chinatown and the Barbary Coast.
“The room where the body was found is one of several that have been dug out beneath the basement and is used entirely17 by opium18 smokers19.
“Chief of Police Leslie has ordered all available detectives on the case and arrests are expected at any moment.”
“Which means,” finally grumbled20 Lanagan, “that I get no day off to-morrow to split a quart of Chianti with mine host Pastori.
“Swanson,” he ran quickly back in his mind, “is president of the Seamen’s Bank; director of the Cosmos21 Club; director of a dozen corporations; trustee of his church; sound as a nut at sixty-five; solidly established in the old conservative families of Nob Hill, with a family of married children likewise solidly established in the solidest kind of respectability and a wife who is a silvery-haired saint if there ever was one.
[Pg 211]“Yet he, a man who probably didn’t know such a place as Chinatown’s Palace Hotel existed until that night, is found dead in the lowest sink of that hole. The extremes of the social system met in his end and the place of it.”
The Chinatown Palace Hotel of the days just before the fire gave that quarter of San Francisco obliteration22, the one thing that could cleanse23 it, was a sorry second to the pretentious24 hostelry on Market Street. A ramshackle structure, illy lit through its crooked25 corridors and musty rooms with ancient gas jets, it looked more, in its complete dirt and dinginess26, like an exaggerated rabbit warren. Three stories above ground and one or two below, cut up into rooms, the largest not more than eight by ten, the smallest just large enough for a bunk27 and an opium layout, it had survived by some miracle the health authorities to hive in musty murk the off-scourings of a city. Once, when Portsmouth Square was the civic28 centre, it had harboured the kings of the early gold days.
The rooms were larger in those days; the front suites29 that gave ease to the idling, new-made Cr?sus had long since been cut up into five, six, seven, or eight, as the increasing congestion30 of the quarter threw an increasing swarm31 of vermin to its recesses32.
Save for white “dope fiends,” known in the vernacular33 of the police as “hops,” “cokes,” or “morphs,” users of opium, cocaine34, or morphine,[Pg 212] it was inhabited solely35 by Chinese, some of them coolie labourers, but the most of them likewise “fiends.”
Below the basement floor were a dozen rooms not high enough for a man to stand erect36 in. The light of day never entered. What light they received came from one main gas jet in the corridor or the occasional flash of a policeman’s pocket light as the Chinatown squad37 made their rounds. Save for the members of the squad, and at times a jaded38 police reporter, idling from the reporters’ room in the near-by Hall of Justice on a quiet night through the district with the squad sergeant39, it is probable no white man save the “fiends” of the district had ever before gasped40 for breath in that foul41 den—no white man, that is, before Captain Robert Swanson, who entered there one night never to emerge. It was three days before one of the denizens42 of the subcellar, finally realising that the occupant of the next bunk was not in the stupor43 of drug but the stiffness of death, made his way with frantic44 hippity-hoppings to the first member of the squad he could find and reported the matter, not forgetting to whine45 for his ten cents for so doing.
Such, in substance, were the facts in the mystery that set the city and the coast—Swanson was a notable figure in shipping circles—in a ferment46 for a week.
For, more than the initial fact of finding the body in Chinatown’s cesspool, five days had now[Pg 213] elapsed with not one single additional fact of consequence to clear the mystery. Suspects without number had been jailed. Every ex-convict, “fiend,” vagrant47, or questionable48 character of the district, white, yellow, or black, male or female, had been put through the police mill. The opium dens49 had been emptied of their wastrels50, blinking like bats in the light of day. Swanson’s past and his present life were run under a high-power lens; his servants’ and his employees’ lives and the lives of his former servants and former employees; Chief Leslie was a fellow member of the Cosmos Club with Swanson, and if any additional good to his natural police pride were necessary to spur him on, that afforded it. Every recourse that police experience could adapt or devise was applied51.
Always there was lacking motive52: that mainspring for crime.
That Swanson had by any chance been addicted53 to the drug habit was early dismissed. Practically every hour of his methodical life could be accounted for for months back.
But in so far as his movements were concerned from the moment he left his doorstep on Wednesday evening until the body was found, he may as well have left his doorstep invested in an invisible mantle54, for no living person that could be located had seen him alive.
There was one peculiar55 circumstance. He had worn that night a heavy ulster overcoat, although[Pg 214] the night had not been chilly56, and Mrs. Swanson had remarked on it at parting. The coat was not found with the body.
It is not exaggeration to say that in physical output Lanagan worked harder than any three reporters or detectives during the first five days of the case. He did not take me into his confidence: he seldom did until the “smash” approached on any story. He smoked eternally or chewed to pulp57 his own select brand of rank Manilas, or consumed innumerable cigarettes. Lanagan never had to bother with the daily routine of a story; that was all left to me. His work was the big “feature” stuff. He might not write a line for a week and then he would saunter into the picture with a news sensation that would upend the town.
But there seemed to be no “upending” on this case. During the five days that had elapsed the big portion of the work had fallen to me. Lanagan had absolutely not turned a trick. On Wednesday evening at midnight, as I turned in my story for the day, identical as I felt it would be with the other two morning papers, Lanagan ’phoned me to meet him at the Hall of Justice.
I drifted down there.
“I just wanted to tell you,” was his greeting, “that I am going to disappear. Don’t look for me. I will discover myself when the time comes. I’m going to lose myself up in Chinatown, for the solution of that story is there, and I’m not coming[Pg 215] until I’ve landed something and choked off the side remarks of the Times and Herald58 outfit59, if I stay there for the balance of my natural life. The police can hang as they please to their hoary60 old dogma that a ‘hop11 head’ never commits murder. Just because they’re so positive, I am going to take the other tack61; at least until I have proved their theory to my own satisfaction. There isn’t a man outside the frequenters of this quarter knew of that subcellar and that’s the theory I am going to stick with now. Keep in pretty close touch with the office so I can get you in a hurry if anything turns up. Good-by.”
In another moment he was walking rapidly up Washington Street to disappear down Dupont, out of sight for three days.
The story had run eight days and a dearth62 of fresh angles had thinned it out a trifle, when, on Saturday evening, along about ten o’clock, as I hung around the local room hoping against hope for a call from Lanagan, it came.
“Meet me in front of old St. Mary’s,” he said, shortly, and I thrilled instantly with that same premonitory tremor63 that always came over me when the climax64 was on. I sped down Kearney Street and in the shadow of the church steps picked him up.
“Dorrett is watching me,” he said. “He’s been covering me for days.” Dorrett was the oldest special policeman in Chinatown and generally held[Pg 216] to be a “leak” for the Herald through personal friendship for a former police reporter, now city editor of that paper. In such fashion do papers develop their “sources” of news. “I have one clue that may be the key to the solid brick wall we have been up against. And I am not going to lose that key to the Herald via Dorrett,” concluded Lanagan, as he suddenly stepped fully9 into the glare of the gas street lamp on the corner just as Dorrett sidled up. I saw that Lanagan had deliberately65 exposed himself.
“Really, Dorrett,” he remarked in that sinister66 tone he could assume so well on occasion, “some of these days I shall actually trip over you if you persist in blundering beneath my feet. You might fall quite hard in that case and hurt yourself. However, just tell Cartwright” (city editor of the Herald) “that I am going to hand him a package of nitroglycerin right on your own particular little bailiwick, will you? Please run along now, like a good little special policeman, because we are going to lose you—thusly.”
He turned on his heel and ran for a California Street car just lumbering67 past us up the hill and I followed suit. After a few blocks he crossed through the car and dropped off on the other side. Scouting68 cautiously back toward Chinatown by way of Washington Street, drifting along with eyes wide for Dorrett, we finally made Ross Alley69, where Lanagan stopped for a fraction of a second[Pg 217] at the wicket of the gambling70 house at No. 8.
At that time it was a strict rule of the gambling “joints” that a white man could not enter. Personally, for all of my four years’ dubbing71 around on police, I never had been able to enter a Chinese gambling house when the play was on. Yet the lookout72 flashed one glance at Lanagan, grinned yellowly and ingenuously73, and the massive solid oak door before us swung noiselessly open and we passed quickly through. As it shut behind us I heard a faint click-click, and glanced back. Three separate two-by-four scantlings, heavily re-enforced with iron, had dropped back into their sockets74. The door was as solid as a concrete wall against the axes of the Chinatown squad; the theory being that by the time the squad had the door battered75 down, the players had departed through some secret runway.
“Melodrama?” laughed Lanagan at me. “But I had to come by the back door, as it were. I wouldn’t like to have any stray police or reporters or Dorrett suspect I was about to interview the man I am. They might smell a rat, possibly. We are more isolated76 among these hundred Chinks, gambling their fool heads off, than we would be in one of Leslie’s dark cells.”
We passed directly through the long room with its eight high tables, at each of which ten or a dozen impassive Celestials77, with chopsticks, beans, and teacups, stood engaged in the contraband79 pastime[Pg 218] of fantan. At a table or two a pie gow game was running, and in a corner dominoes. The air was so heavy and heated that I felt the perspiration80 starting in an instant. The Chinese gambler, if he is winning, sticks in that thick atmosphere for hours at a time.
At the rear of the room was another door, likewise barred in triplicate. Here another lookout grinned friendly at Lanagan and pressed on an innocent-appearing nail head in the wainscoting and the bars dropped and the door opened to a steep ladder. We went down about ten feet into a blind areaway between two buildings.
It was as black as your derby hat. But Lanagan, the marvellous, stepped ahead with assurance and I followed him gropingly. In another moment he rapped faintly on what I took to be a section of the brick base of the building, a click sounded, he took me by the arm, pulled me after him, another click, and the next moment a blaze of electric light discovered us to be in a small lounging room elaborately appointed in Oriental furnishings.
“Hullo, Mist’ Lamagum!”
The voice came from a corpulent, twinkling-eyed, richly garbed81 Chinaman just arisen from a massive chair of ebony and mother-of-pearl.
“Hello, Fu,” said Lanagan, sinking into another massive chair and motioning me to do likewise.
“My friend Norton, Fu. Norton, Mr. Fu Wong, otherwise known to me as Why Because.[Pg 219] You will understand ‘why because’ presently.”
“Why? Becaus’? I tell you,” said Fu Wong, chuckling82. “Him funny boy, Mist’ Lamagum. He, whatyoucalem, jolly me. You likem smoke?” He pressed a button on the arm of his chair and a flowing-garbed Chinese boy appeared with rich Havanas on a tray, together with individual teacups and two-piece teapots for three.
“Did you find See Wong?” Lanagan asked abruptly83, while I studied Fu, whom I knew by reputation as one of the Chinese merchant princes. “I am in a hurry, Fu.”
“I catchem. He say Charley drive aut-o-mob-eel. Charley live there three, fo’ wicks. She cry one time See bringem tea: ‘Oh, Charley! Charley! Why fo’ you do him? What’s mala you, Charley?’ She stop quick see See. Why? Becaus’? See, he donno. He say Charley he usem, what you call ’em? Hop.”
For the first time since this story broke, that singular flashing, almost like a cat’s eyes, flamed into Lanagan’s dark eyes and they shot a responsive shiver of high tension interest through me, because I knew that at last he had struck the trail.
“You have done more for me than I can ever repay,” said Lanagan at parting. “You are a remarkable84 man, Fu Wong.”
Fu laughed boyishly.
“Why? Becaus’? You save my sto’ good name? I help you.”
[Pg 220]As we went back out the way we came in, Lanagan enlightened me.
“Fu is president of the Suey Sing Tong. There is a Chinaman, Swanson’s cook, See Wong, whom I have been hammering on for two days. Of all the household servants, I have a vague suspicion of him. I couldn’t land him. Finally I looked up his affiliation85, found he was a Suey Sing man, and then I enlisted86 the services of Fu Wong. See Wong would have to talk to his tong leader where the police or the reporters couldn’t drag information out of him with a team of mules87. He purely88 and simply wouldn’t ‘sabe,’ and that’s all the satisfaction you could get.
“‘Why Because’ is not only proprietor89 of one of the biggest bazaars90 here and a director of the Chinese Bank, but he is also proprietor—I am telling you Chinatown secrets and not to be repeated—of of the gambling house we came through and several others. He is one of the powers of the quarter.
“There was an English tourist robbed in his bazaar91 once of a couple of hundred dollars and I was sent up here. Fu laboured under the impression that the entire sixteen pages of the Enquirer92 were going to be turned over to that particular robbery. He felt the disgrace of the thing keenly, as any high-class Chinaman would, and personally offered the Englishman back the money. That was a good story. For some reason Fu, not understanding[Pg 221] the American newspaper idea of ‘human interest,’ elected to think I had written a eulogy93 of him deliberately. I could have had half his store at that time, I guess, if I had wanted it. But I took a cigar and a cup of tea, and ever since that time I have been taken inside the inner circle up here. The room we were in is a runway through the basement of the bazaar next door in case of a raid.
“‘Charley’ was a chauffeur94 named Thorne, employed by Mrs. Swanson about three months ago for several weeks. He was one of the numerous wastrels that that woman of unostentatious but magnificent charities had under her protection. There are scores in and about the city, men and women, boys and girls, that she had taken from the under side of life and put on top. I didn’t see him, but some of Leslie’s men did and found nothing suspicious. Had they known he was a ‘hop,’ however, they might have thought differently. It establishes a very clear apparent connection between Swanson and the Palace Hotel and the only definite clue that has been turned up. We will save a lot of time by getting his address from Leslie.”
Lanagan was through with Leslie in a few moments.
“He is going home, but will be on tap with Brady and Wilson if we need him later,” he said. “He got curious when I mentioned Thorne, but promised to lay off until he heard from me. Thorne lives at Lombard and Larkin, where, in view of[Pg 222] Mrs. Swanson’s undoubted suspicion that he committed the crime, coupled with See Wong’s charge that he is a ‘hop,’ we will now proceed to call on him.”
We were there in a few moments. It was a squalid lodging95 house, in charge of a slatternly beldam. She didn’t know whether Thorne was in or not. He was kind of loony, lately, she thought.
“Too bad,” said Lanagan, genially96. “Has Charley been so that he couldn’t be out the last week? He wasn’t feeling well last time I saw him.”
“Ain’t seen much of him this week,” she replied. “I didn’t know about it, but I am beginnin’ to think he is one of them there fiends. He is actin’ something awful sometimes lately, what with his skippin’s and hoppin’s. You can go on up.”
The door was locked, but it was a rickety affair and the lock yielded to the pressure of our shoulders. A man who might have been any age from twenty to forty swung himself to a sitting position on a disordered bed and glared at us with eyes that were wide open but only half seeing.
“Full of hop; and I might as well jam him on a gamble,” said Lanagan, in an aside to me as he stepped quickly over and pulled Thorne to his feet, slapped him across the face, and sat him down in a chair. A high-pitched, querulous protest was voiced at the treatment, and then Thorne whimpered:
“Oh, you are so cruel! What have I ever done to be treated so cruelly?” He began to cry.
[Pg 223]“Done? You snivelling viper97, put on your shoes and come with me to jail. You murdered Robert Swanson and you are going to hang for it. Get up and come along.” Again Lanagan caught him a sharp slap across the face. This time Thorne did not whimper. A look of cunning came into his eyes.
“Getting your wits back pretty quick, now, eh?” sneered98 Lanagan.
Thorne stared. It seemed for a moment his clouded eyes entirely cleared; and then the film of the drug-sodden brain fell over his eyes again, and he relapsed to his hunched99 position. He was shivering and rocking himself, his angular knees drawn100 up to his chin, clasped around with his arms.
“Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” His voice was pitched high again like a woman’s. “Why is everyone so cruel to me? I am very nervous, as you can see, gentlemen. I really need something to quiet my nerves. It is the doctor’s orders, really. Would it be asking too much, now, to ask for the loan of ten cents? Oh, dear—”
“Thorne!” Lanagan, his aspect actually ferocious101, leaped before the half-arisen suppliant102. I shrank back myself, his acting103 was so consummately104 done.
“I’ll give you ten cents, you viper! You murdering, crawling, poisonous viper! I’ll give you the condemned105 cell at San Quentin and the death watch and the black cap, and the quick drop, until[Pg 224] they crack that snake’s neck of yours into a dozen pieces! That’s what I’ll give you!”
Chattering106, jabbering107 incoherently, his long, lean, sharp-nailed, claw-like hands working spasmodically before his face and toward Lanagan, the fiend huddled108 back. He glanced from side to side, his head lolling, as though seeking some avenue of escape by a desperate leap.
Lanagan’s eyes were within a foot of his face. Thorne began to foam109 at the mouth. I thought he was going into a fit as I watched, fascinated, the horrible scene. Bearing down upon the wretch110 with savagery111 in his voice and manner, Lanagan hammered on:
“Give you ten cents! What do you want with ten cents? You’ll never get another shot of coke as long as you live, Thorne! Never in this world! You are coming with me now, coming where you will never need coke again! Coming to your death by hanging for murder! Not another shot in all this world will you ever get!”
With a shriek112 that was more animal’s than man’s, Thorne suddenly lunged forward. Quicker than the dart113 of a snake’s head, those hands, with their long, lean, writhing114 fingers, had twisted around Lanagan’s neck. With a strength that was the strength of temporary insanity115, he flung Lanagan from him and fell with him. Then, like a lean gorilla116, he shook Lanagan’s head from side to side while he screeched117 fearful imprecations.
[Pg 225]“You lie! You lie! I’ll get all I want! That’s what he said, and I killed him, and I’ll kill you, too! Yah! Yeeah!” He trailed away into a maniacal118 scream.
I hurled119 myself at him, but the fiend, for the moment at least, had the strength of three men. I finally managed to get in a blow that settled him.
Lanagan, rubbing his bruised120 neck ruefully, rose slowly. He was panting a little but chuckling.
“Score one for mental suggestion on a weak subject,” he laughed. “But I didn’t figure those scrawny hands had quite that much strength. This murder is clearer than print. We all but re-enacted the scene.
“Now, my boy, to establish the connection that would bring a man of Swanson’s position to a rendezvous121 at the Palace, to arouse the slumbering122 demon123 in this human orang-utang. It’s rather a commentary on that hoary police doctrine124 that a dope fiend never commits murder. I was right.”
Within thirty minutes Chief Leslie and Brady, and Wilson, his right-hand men, were in the room, and Lanagan swiftly detailed125 the circumstances. Thorne had come to and was shaking and shivering as the drug wore out of his system, leaving him nerve-racked. He did not attempt to repudiate126 his utterance127, but sullenly128 admitted the murder.
In view of the words overheard by See Wong, there was but one person to clear up the mystery.[Pg 226] Leslie, Lanagan and I hurried in the chief’s machine to the Swanson home, nearly midnight as it was. That they had had Thorne once under examination and had permitted him to go was a source of bitter chagrin129 to the chief. Thorne showed none of the ravages130 of the habit that men of weaker physique exhibited; the day the police picked him up he had happened to be comparatively normal, and consequently he had passed safely through the quiz.
Mrs. Swanson had not yet retired, and, upon learning that the chief was one of her late callers, summoned us at once to the drawing-room. She had one of those splendid faces seen occasionally in the aged78, where strength of mind or religious fervour has brought endurance of lifelong secret pain of body or soul. The calmness of a noble resignation looked forth131 in a slight clouding of her clear eyes and expressed itself in the faint traces of suppression about her mobile lips. The gleaming, snow-white hair, combed straight back from a forehead of a remarkable breadth in a woman, invested her like an aureole.
She was a woman probably of sixty years.
“You will appreciate, gentlemen, I trust,” she said in a low voice of refined modulation132, “that I have endured much and am still suffering.”
“It is a very painful errand we are on, Mrs. Swanson, and we will endeavour to be brief,” said Lanagan in a voice that a Chesterfield might have envied for courteous133 inflection and gentleness of[Pg 227] expression, “but nevertheless it is an errand that must be performed.” He glanced at the chief, who nodded.
“Speaking as a newspaper man,” continued Lanagan, “it is my wish at all times to spare the feelings of those, particularly women, with whom I am brought into relation. But the true newspaper man is a seeker after truth, and he must follow as definite a path as the police follow.”
There was an eloquent134 pause. She gazed from one to the other during the interim135, as though striving to read their thoughts. It was evident that the undercurrent that these skilled cross-examiners intended to convey had carried home.
“Well?” finally. Neither Lanagan nor Leslie spoke136. There was another pause. She said at last: “You have some information to impart to me? Or some information to seek?”
“We desire to inform you,” said Leslie slowly, and with just a shade more of hardness in his tone as the detective began to work in him, “that we have under arrest the confessed murderer of your husband.”
She leaned involuntarily forward in her chair and grasped the arms so hard that her knuckles137 showed white through the fair skin of her hands.
“And we desire to inform you,” added Lanagan quickly, “that the name of your husband’s murderer is Charles Thorne; and we desire to ask you what the motive was for the murder of your husband[Pg 228] by Charles Thorne; and why, when you suspected that Charles Thorne was the murderer, you did not immediately notify the police?”
Her hands slowly relaxed their grip on the chair arms as she sank back into its depths. Curiously138, in the way the light struck down at her hair and her face, it seemed that the beautiful halo of white that had invested her, and the delicate, well-preserved whiteness of her skin, turned suddenly to dirty grey. If ever the blight139 of age settled visibly in fact or in fiction, it settled upon her then.
“You—have—Charles—Thorne—under—arrest?” she said, and her very tone was grey. She did not deny the truth of the charge; she did not express satisfaction that the murderer was found; she merely asked whether they had Charles Thorne under arrest.
“Yes.”
Her eyes closed and her head dropped suddenly back against the chair. We stepped swiftly forward, but before we could take any measures to revive her, her eyes had opened again. The lips moved. She was speaking, but so gaspingly that we bent140 to hear.
“It is the end of the long night,” she said with many halts; “the end of the long night. A life’s nightmare is done. God have mercy on me—”
She stopped completely. Then:
“God pity all mothers who bear as I bore—”
Another long pause. She was by strong effort[Pg 229] retaining the clarity of her faculties141 under some heavy shock. She repeated:
“Who bear as I bore!”
The silence became acutely poignant142.
“It must be told,” she breathed finally. “You have asked me why I did not tell you my suspicions. I will tell you now. Charles Thorne—”
Her next words came so low that had it not been for the pregnant silence of the great drawing-room they could not have been heard.
“Is my son.”
I found I had been holding my breath; and I glanced quickly at Lanagan, to see his breast falling with a deep exhalation.
“My husband did not know,” she continued, colourlessly. “Charles Thorne does not know I am his mother. I have tried to live a full Christian143 life. I have given by tens of thousands to aid the erring144. I have thought to make all atonement....
“And yet the blood of my blood slew145 the heart of my heart, my dear husband, one of God’s noble men....”
After that wrenching146 confession147 her normal poise148 began by degrees to return as the strength of an extraordinary mind began to assert itself. The story was soon told: of an alliance before her marriage to Swanson, of the boy, taken by the father, to be sent back to her after fifteen years. The dissolute father, on his deathbed, sent Charles back to the mother.
[Pg 230]For fifteen years since that day she had steadily149 stood sponsor for the boy. To her husband he was but one of the many others of her objects of charity. It may be said the boy inherited the dissolute traits of his father. Finally, her own children by Swanson all marrying, that profound mysterious quality of motherhood prompted her to make one last effort to redeem150 the boy under her own eyes, and she adopted the dangerous course, for her, of bringing him to the house as a chauffeur.
That he was given to drugs she did not know. Thorne had been caught in a series of petty thefts. Swanson had finally been compelled to discharge him. He had left the house with maledictions upon Swanson. Instinctively151 she had felt he was the author of the crime.
Considering all of these circumstances, and understanding the character of the fiend and his paternity, it is evident that in his brain, constantly weakening under drugs, became fixed152 a sinister purpose to work out some scheme of revenge on Swanson for driving him from a rich home and a cozy153 living, with ample funds and opportunity for a secret indulgence in his weakness.
As it subsequently appeared, Thorne did not originally plan murder. Some abortive154 scheme of blackmail155 had but half formed in his crazy brain. He lured Swanson with a cunning letter, full of explicit156 directions, to the Palace Hotel by writing that he was seriously ill there. He begged that Mrs.[Pg 231] Swanson be not informed until after Swanson had seen him. He wanted an opportunity to redeem himself, he wrote; and Swanson, as warm-hearted as his wife, and not caring evidently to worry her needlessly about the condition of one of her charges until he had made an investigation157, set out on his errand of humanity, never to return.
He wore his ulster, obviously so that he would not be recognised going alone into the Palace Hotel. In the subcellar he had met Thorne. There was a prolonged talk, and Swanson made the mistake of chiding158 the fiend on his habits. Desire coming upon him strongly, Thorne finally exhibited himself in all his ugly weakness, and the spectacle was too much for the eyes of Swanson, unaccustomed to such sights. He was stooping his way out of the little room after sternly refusing Thorne’s appeal for money, when the long, lean fingers of the half-insane man, with some congenital strain outcropping perhaps of that vagabond, dissolute father, found an easy goal in a man already half-suffocated in the thick air of the place.
Alarmed, when his fit had passed, at what he had done, and fearing to rob the body, Thorne had quakingly slipped into Swanson’s ulster and made his way in terror to his own room. First he had journeyed to the foot of Powell Street, weighted the coat with a rock, and cast it into the water of the bay. It was subsequently recovered and served as the single bit of incriminating evidence to substantiate[Pg 232] his confession. His letter to Swanson, in Swanson’s pocket, he had taken with him to destroy by tearing into fine bits.
Such were the salient features of a most extraordinary crime as ultimately established.
But to return to Mrs. Swanson’s drawing-room, where Lanagan is speaking:
“Charles Thorne does not know, then, that you are his mother?”
“He does not know.”
“Who does know?”
“No living person save myself and you gentlemen.”
“In that case, then, Mrs. Swanson,” said Lanagan simply, “your secret will die with us.”
She choked in attempting to speak, and, tears streaming from her eyes, bade us each adieu. For my part I confess I was blinking like a boy. The outer doors closed behind us. Then:
“Back to the room for you, chief,” snapped Lanagan laconically159. “Throw Thorne in at 2:15. Charles Thorne, a former chauffeur, murdered Swanson after attempted blackmail failed. You stand, of course, chief?”
“Stand, Jack?” replied that sterling160 officer, “it’s in so deep it can only come out when the last drop leaves my veins161.”
“I knew that,” said Lanagan. “Now, Norrie,” sharply, “get together! We have exactly fifty-five minutes to press time!”
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shrill
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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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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4
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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5
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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6
cataclysm
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| n.洪水，剧变，大灾难 | |
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7
lanky
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| adj.瘦长的 | |
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8
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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9
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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10
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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11
hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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12
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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13
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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14
lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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15
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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16
denizen
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| n.居民，外籍居民 | |
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17
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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18
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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19
smokers
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| 吸烟者( smoker的名词复数 ) | |
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20
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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21
cosmos
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| n.宇宙；秩序，和谐 | |
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22
obliteration
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| n.涂去，删除；管腔闭合 | |
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23
cleanse
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| vt.使清洁，使纯洁，清洗 | |
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24
pretentious
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| adj.自命不凡的，自负的，炫耀的 | |
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25
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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26
dinginess
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| n.暗淡，肮脏 | |
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27
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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28
civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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29
suites
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| n.套( suite的名词复数 )；一套房间；一套家具；一套公寓 | |
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30
congestion
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| n.阻塞，消化不良 | |
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31
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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32
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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33
vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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34
cocaine
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| n.可卡因，古柯碱（用作局部麻醉剂） | |
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35
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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36
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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37
squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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38
jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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39
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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40
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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41
foul
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|
| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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42
denizens
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| n.居民，住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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43
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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44
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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45
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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46
ferment
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| vt.使发酵；n./vt.（使）激动，（使）动乱 | |
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47
vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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48
questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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49
dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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50
wastrels
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| n.无用的人，废物( wastrel的名词复数 )；浪子 | |
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51
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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52
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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53
addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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54
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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55
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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56
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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57
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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58
herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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59
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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60
hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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61
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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62
dearth
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| n.缺乏，粮食不足，饥谨 | |
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63
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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64
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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65
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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66
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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67
lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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68
scouting
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| 守候活动，童子军的活动 | |
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69
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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70
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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71
dubbing
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|
| n.配音v.给…起绰号( dub的现在分词 )；把…称为；配音；复制 | |
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72
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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73
ingenuously
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| adv.率直地，正直地 | |
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74
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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75
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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76
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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77
celestials
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| n.天的，天空的( celestial的名词复数 ) | |
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78
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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79
contraband
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| n.违禁品，走私品 | |
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80
perspiration
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|
| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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81
garbed
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| v.（尤指某类人穿的特定）服装，衣服，制服( garb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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83
abruptly
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|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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84
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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85
affiliation
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| n.联系，联合 | |
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86
enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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87
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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88
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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89
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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90
bazaars
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| （东方国家的）市场( bazaar的名词复数 )； 义卖； 义卖市场； （出售花哨商品等的）小商品市场 | |
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91
bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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92
enquirer
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| 寻问者，追究者 | |
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93
eulogy
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| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
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94
chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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95
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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96
genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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97
viper
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| n.毒蛇；危险的人 | |
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98
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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100
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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101
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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102
suppliant
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| adj.哀恳的；n.恳求者，哀求者 | |
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103
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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104
consummately
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| adv.完成地，至上地 | |
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105
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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106
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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107
jabbering
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| v.急切而含混不清地说( jabber的现在分词 )；急促兴奋地说话；结结巴巴 | |
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108
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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109
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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110
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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111
savagery
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| n.野性 | |
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112
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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113
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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114
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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115
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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116
gorilla
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| n.大猩猩，暴徒，打手 | |
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117
screeched
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| v.发出尖叫声( screech的过去式和过去分词 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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118
maniacal
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| adj.发疯的 | |
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119
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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120
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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121
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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122
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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123
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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124
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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125
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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126
repudiate
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| v.拒绝，拒付，拒绝履行 | |
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127
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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128
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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129
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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130
ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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131
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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132
modulation
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| n.调制 | |
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133
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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134
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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135
interim
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| adj.暂时的，临时的；n.间歇，过渡期间 | |
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136
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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137
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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138
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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139
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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140
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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141
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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142
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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143
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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144
erring
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| 做错事的，错误的 | |
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145
slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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146
wrenching
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| n.修截苗根，苗木铲根（铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土）v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的现在分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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147
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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148
poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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149
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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150
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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153
cozy
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| adj.亲如手足的，密切的，暖和舒服的 | |
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154
abortive
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| adj.不成功的，发育不全的 | |
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155
blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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156
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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157
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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158
chiding
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| v.责骂，责备( chide的现在分词 ) | |
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159
laconically
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| adv.简短地，简洁地 | |
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160
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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