It was between the hours of two and three that I entered the gates of Brompton Cemetery6 and commenced my examination of the various graves therein contained. Up one path I wandered and down another in search of the resting-place of the poor crippled sister of whom Gideon Hayle had been so fond. It was a long time before I found it, but at last I was successful. To my astonishment7 the stone was plainly a new one, and the grave was tastefully decorated with flowers. As a matter of fact it was one of the prettiest in its neighbourhood, and to me this told its own tale. I went in search of the necessary official and put the case to him. He informed me that I was correct in my supposition, and that the stone had only lately been erected8, and, what was more to the point, he informed me that the gentleman who had given the order for it, had only the week before paid the necessary sum for insuring the decoration of the grave for many years to come.
“I gather from your words, that the gentleman, who must be a relative of the deceased, has been here lately,” I said.
“He was here last Sunday afternoon,” the man replied. “He is a most kindly9 and generous gentleman, and must have been very fond of his sister. The way he stood and looked at that stone the last time he was here was touching10 to see. He’d been in foreign parts, sir, and is likely to go out there again, so I gathered from what he said. It is a pity there are not more like him.”
This was news, indeed, and I pricked11 up my ears on hearing it.
Having learnt all I was likely to discover, I thanked the man for his kindness and left the cemetery. If I had done nothing else, I had at least satisfied myself upon one point, and this was the fact that Gideon Hayle had been in London within the week. Under such circumstances it should not be very difficult to obtain his address. But I knew from experience that when things seemed to be running most smoothly12, they are as much liable to a breakdown13 as at any other time — sometimes even more so. I accordingly hailed a cab and drove back to my office. Once there I entered up my diary according to custom, wrote a note to Kitwater, informing him that I had discovered that Gideon Hayle had not left London on the previous Sunday, and also that I believed him to have negotiated certain of the stones in London, after which I returned to my hotel to dine.
Most people who know me would tell you that it might be considered consistent with my character that I still occupied the same apartments in the private hotel, off the Strand14, in which I had domiciled myself when I first arrived in England. If I am made comfortable I prefer to stick to my quarters, and the hotel in question was a quiet one; the cooking and the service were excellent, and, as every one did his, or her, best for me, I saw no sort of reason for moving elsewhere. It is something in such matters to know the people with whom one has to deal, and in my case I could not have been better cared for had I been a crowned head. I suppose I am a bit of a faddist15 in these things. Except when business compels me to break through my rule, I rise at the same hour every morning, breakfast, lunch, and dine at the same time, and as far as possible retire to rest punctually at the usual moment. After dinner in those days, things have changed since then somewhat. I invariably smoked a cigar, and when the evening was fine, went for a stroll, returning between nine and ten and retiring to rest, unless I had anything to attend to, punctually at eleven. On this particular occasion, the night being fine, though rather close, I lit my cigar in the hall and stepped out into the street exactly as the clock was striking eight. I had a lot to think of, and felt just in the humour for a walk. London at all hours is a fascinating study to me, and however much I see of her, I never tire of watching her moods. After I left my hotel I strolled along the Embankment so far as the Houses of Parliament, passed the Abbey, made my way down Victoria Street, and then by way of Grosvenor Place to Hyde Park Corner. Opposite Apsley House I paused to look about me. I had my reasons for so doing, for ever since I had left the river-side, I had entertained the notion that I was being followed. When I had crossed the road at the Houses of Parliament, two men, apparently16 of the loafer class, had crossed too. They had followed me up Victoria Street, and now, as I stood outside the Duke of Wellington’s residence, I could see them moving about on the other side of the way. What their intentions were I could not say, but that their object was to spy upon my movements, I was quite convinced. In order to assure myself of this fact I resolved to lay a little trap for them. Passing down Piccadilly at a sharp pace, I turned into Berkeley Street, some twenty yards or so ahead of them. Crossing the road I sheltered myself in a doorway17 and waited. I had not been there very long, before I observed that they had turned the corner and were coming along in hot pursuit. That they did not notice me in my hiding-place is evident from the fact that they passed on the other side of the street, and doubtless thinking that they had missed me, commenced to run. I thereupon quitted my friendly doorway, returned to Piccadilly, hailed a cab, and drove back to my hotel. As I went I turned the matter over in my mind. With the exception of the present case I had nothing important on hand, so that I could think of no one who would be likely to set a watch upon me. That I did not suspect Hayle would only be natural under the circumstances, as I did not know then that he had been the witness of Kitwater and Codd’s visit to my office that afternoon, and I felt convinced in my own mind that he was unaware18 that they were in England. It was most natural, therefore, that I should not in any way associate him with the plot.
The following day was spent for the greater part in making further inquiries19 in Hatton Garden, and among the various Dutch merchants then in London. The story the senior partner of Messrs. Jacob and Bulenthall had told me had proved to be correct, and there could be no sort of doubt that Hayle had realized a very large sum of money by the transaction. What was more, I discovered that he had been seen in London within the previous twenty-four hours. This was a most important point, and it encouraged me to persevere20 in my search. One thing, however, was remarkable21. One or two of the merchants to whom Hayle had disposed of his stones, had seen more of him than Messrs. Jacob and Bulenthall. Two had dined with him at a certain popular restaurant in Regent Street, and had visited a theatre with him afterwards. In neither case, however, had they discovered his name or where he lived. This secret he guarded most religiously, and the fact that he did so, afforded additional food for reflection. If he imagined his old companions to be dead, why should he be so anxious that his own identity, and his place of residence, should remain a secret? If they were safely out of the way, no one could possibly know of his connection with them, and in that case he might, if he pleased, purchase a mansion22 in Park Lane and flourish his wealth before the eyes of the world, for any harm it might do him. Yet here he was, exciting mistrust by his secrecy23, and leading a hole-and-corner sort of life when, as I have said, there was not the slightest necessity for it. Little by little I was beginning to derive24 the impression that the first notion of Mr. Hayle was an erroneous one, and that there was more in him than I supposed. This sentiment was destined25 to be strengthened and in the very near future, by two remarkable discoveries.
That evening I again went for a walk. Feeling fairly confident, however, that the men who had followed me before would do so again, I took certain precautions before I set out. One of my subordinates, a man remarkable for his strength, was ordered to be at the corner of my street at half-past eight. He was to wait there until I emerged from my hotel, himself remaining as far as possible out of sight. On this occasion I had planned my route deliberately26. I made my way in the first place along the Strand as far as Trafalgar Square, down Cockspur Street by way of the Haymarket to Regent Street, then on by Langham Place to that vast network of streets that lies between Oxford27 Street and the Euston Road.
I had some time before this found out that I was being followed again. The two men who had dodged28 my steps on the previous night were doing so again, though the reason for their action was no more apparent. However, I had laid my plans most carefully, and hoped, if all went well, to be able to satisfy myself upon this point. I had plenty of enemies, I knew, as a man of my profession must of necessity have, but I could not think of one who would pry29 upon my movements like this. At last the time came for action. Turning into a side street, I slackened my pace in order to give my pursuers time to come up. Apart from ourselves the street was quite deserted30, and, if they intended doing me harm, was quite dark enough to favour their plans. I could see as well as hear them approaching. Then, when they were close upon me, I slipped my hand into my coat-pocket, and turned and confronted them. My own man was softly coming up from behind.
“Now, my men,” I began, “what’s the meaning of this? No, you can keep your distance. It’s no use thinking of violence, for I’ve got you before and behind. Take care that they don’t get away, Wilson!”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the man replied. “I’ll take good care of that.”
“ ‘LET’S OUT HIM, BILL,’ SAID THE TALLER OF THE TWO MEN.”
“Let’s ‘out him,’ Bill,” said the taller of the two men, and as he did so took a step towards me.
“Do you see this?” I inquired, producing my revolver as I spoke31. “I am aware that it is not lawful32 to carry firearms in the streets of London, but when one has to deal with gentlemen like you, it becomes a necessity. Throw up your hands.”
They did as they were ordered without demur33. Then turning to the taller man I addressed him more particularly.
“You seem to be the leader,” I said, “and for that reason I want to have a little talk with you. Your companion can take himself off as soon as he pleases. If he does not, let me assure him that he will get into trouble. Your intention to ‘out me,’ as you call it, has failed, as you can see, and when I have done with you I don’t think the attempt will be repeated. Now get off, my man, and thank your stars that I have let you go so easily.”
Never were the tables turned so quickly or so completely on a pair of rogues34, and the man I addressed seemed to think too. After a whispered conversation with his companion, he walked away at his best pace, and we saw no more of him.
“Now,” I said, turning to the fellow who was left behind, “you will come along with me to my office, and we’ll have a little talk together.”
Our prisoner would have resisted, but certain warnings I was able to give him, induced him to change his mind. When we reached my office I opened the door and conducted him to my sanctum, while Wilson followed close behind and lit the gas. He then passed into the outer office, leaving me alone with my prisoner. On closer inspection35 he proved to be a burly ruffian, and would doubtless have proved an ugly customer to tackle alone. He, in his turn, looked at me in some interest and then at the door, as if he were half inclined to try the effect of a struggle.
“First and foremost, do you know where you are and who I am?” I asked him.
“No,” he said, “I can’t say as ever I set my eyes on yer afore last night, and I don’t know yer bloomin’ name or what yer are and I don’t want to.”
“Politeness is evidently not your strong point,” I commented. “Just look at that!”
Taking a sheet of note-paper from the rack upon my table I handed it to him.
He did so, and I saw a look of surprise steal over his face. He looked from it to me and then back again at the paper.
“Fairfax,” he said. “The d---- Tec, the same as got poor old Billy Whitelaw scragged last year.”
“I certainly believe I had that honour,” I returned, “and it’s just possible, if you continue in your present career, that I may have the pleasure of doing the same for you. Now, look here, my man, there’s some one else at the back of this business, and what I want to know is, who put you up to try your hand upon me? Tell me that, and I will let you go and say no more about it. Refuse, and I must try and find some evidence against you that will rid society of you for some time to come. Doubtless it will not be very difficult.”
He considered a moment before he replied.
“Well,” he said, “I don’t know as how I won’t tell you, a seein’ you’re who yer are, and I am not likely to get anything out of the job. It was a rare toff who put us on to it. Silk hat, frock-coat, and all as natty36 as a new pin. He comes across us down in the Dials, stood us a couple of drinks, turfed out a suvring apiece, and then told us he wanted the gentleman at Rickford’s Hotel laid by for a time. He told us ‘ow yer were in the habit of going about the streets at night for walks, and said as ‘ow he would be down near the hotel that evenin’ and when yer came out, he would strike a match and light a smoke just ter give us the tip like. We wos to foller yer, and to do the job wherever we could. Then we was to bring your timepiece to him at the back of St. Martin’s Church in the Strand at midnight, and he would pay us our money and let us keep the clock for our trouble. Oh, yes, ’e’s a deep un, jost take my tip for it. He knowed that unless we ‘outed’ yer properly, we’d not be able to get at your fob, and then ’e’d not have paid out.”
“I see, and not being successful on your first attempt, you followed me again to-night, of course by his instructions as before?”
“That’s so, guvner,” the man replied, “but I reckon we ain’t agoin’ to see any money this trip. If I’d ha’ knowed who you was, I wouldn’t a taken this job in hand, not for no money.”
“That is where so many of you go wrong,” I said. “You fail to make sufficient inquiries before you commence business. And I understand you to say that the gentleman who put you up to it, is to be at the back of St. Martin’s church to-night?”
“Yes, sir, that’s so,” said the fellow. “He’ll be there all right.”
“In that case I think I’ll be there to meet him,” I continued. “It’s a pity he should not see some one, and I suppose you will not keep your appointment?”
“Not if I knows it,” the man answered. Then he added regretfully, “A regular toff — he was — free with his rhino37 as could be, and dressed up to the nines. He chucked his ‘arf soverings about as if they were dirt, he did.”
“It is sad to think that through your folly38, no more of them will find themselves into your pocket,” I said. “You should have done the trick last night, and you would now be in the full enjoyment39 of your wealth. As it is you have had all your trouble for nothing. Now, that’s all I want to say to you, so you can go and join your amiable40 companions as soon as you like. Just one word of advice, however, before you depart. Don’t go near St. Martin’s church to-night, and, when you want to kick another unoffending citizen to death, be sure of your man before you commence operations.”
As I said this I rang the bell and told Wilson to show him out, which he did.
“Now,” I said to myself after he had gone, “this looks like developing into an affair after my own heart. I am most anxious to discover who my mysterious enemy can be. It might be Grobellar, but I fancy he is still in Berlin. There’s Tremasty, but I don’t think he would dare venture to England. No, when I come to think of it, this business does not seem to belong to either of them.”
I took from my pocket the watch which was to have played such an important part in the drama and consulted it. It was just half-past eleven, therefore I had exactly half-an-hour to get to the rendezvous41. I called Wilson and congratulated him on the success which had attended our efforts of that evening.
“It’s a good thing you came out of it so well, sir,” he said. “They were a nasty pair of chaps, and would have thought as much of ‘outing’ you as they would of drinking a pot of ale.”
“But thank goodness, they didn’t succeed,” I replied. “As the saying goes, ‘a miss has never killed a man yet.’ And now, Wilson, you’d better be off home to bed. Turn out the gas before you go. Good-night!”
“Good-night, sir,” he answered, and then I put on my hat and left the office.
I found when I stepped into the street that the character of the night had changed. Thick clouds obscured the sky, and a few drops of rain were falling. At first I felt inclined to take a cab, but on second thoughts I changed my mind, and putting up my umbrella strode along in the direction of St. Martin’s church.
The theatres were over by this time, and the streets were beginning to grow empty. I passed the Gaiety where a middle-aged42 gentleman, decidedly intoxicated43, was engaged in a noisy altercation44 with a policeman, who was threatening to take him to Bow Street if he did not go quietly home, and at last approached the spot for which I was making. I took up my position on the darker side of Holywell Street, and waited. So far I seemed to have the thoroughfare to myself, but I had still some three or four minutes to wait.
At last midnight sounded, and as I heard it I concealed45 myself more carefully in my doorway and watched. I was not to be kept long in suspense46, for the new day was scarcely three minutes old, when a hansom drove up to the other side of the church, and a man alighted. He paid off the man and wished him good-night, and then came along the roadway at the back of the church. From where I stood I could see his figure distinctly, but was not able to distinguish his face. He was dressed in a black cloak, and wore a deer-stalker hat upon his head. That he was the man I wanted I felt sure, for what would any one else be doing there at such an hour? That he was surprised at not finding his bravoes awaiting him was very certain, for he looked up the street, down the street, peered into Holywell Street, where, thank goodness, he did not see me, then along the Strand in a westerly direction, and afterwards came and took up his position within half-a-dozen paces of where I was hidden. Presently he took a cigar-case from his pocket, opened it, selected a weed, and struck a match to light it. The flame illumined his face so that I could see it distinctly. If I had not had myself well under control, I believe I should have uttered an exclamation47 of surprise that could not have failed to attract attention. The man who had set those rascals48 on to try and get rid of me, was none other than Mr. Edward Bayley, the Managing Director of the Santa Cruz Mining Company of the Argentine Republic!
Here was a surprise indeed! What on earth did it all mean?
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1
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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2
grooves
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| n.沟( groove的名词复数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏v.沟( groove的第三人称单数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏 | |
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3
despoil
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| v.夺取，抢夺 | |
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4
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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5
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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6
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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7
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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8
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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9
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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10
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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11
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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13
breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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14
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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15
faddist
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| n.趋于时尚者，好新奇的人 | |
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16
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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17
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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18
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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19
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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persevere
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| v.坚持，坚忍，不屈不挠 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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24
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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28
dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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31
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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32
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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demur
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| v．表示异议，反对 | |
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rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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natty
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| adj.整洁的，漂亮的 | |
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rhino
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| n.犀牛，钱, 现金 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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39
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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40
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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41
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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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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43
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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44
altercation
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| n.争吵，争论 | |
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45
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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46
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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47
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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48
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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