He had done a tremendous lot of work in the way of putting out nets.
He had as complete a list as could be obtained of the lodging-houses in the neighbourhood, every early morning coffee stall in Kensington and Bayswater had been kept under surveillance, also the newspaper shops. The tube stations at Notting Hill Gate, Holland Park, Shepherd’s Bush, and Queen’s Road, Bayswater, had been watched, and the result, up to this had been the arrest of one man who had easily proved his identity and the fact of his innocence2.
The bother was that Klein’s description as to dress could not be given. Only the fact that he was pale, clean-shaven, of the middle height and spoke3 with a German accent.
“How fortunate,” cried Hellier; “you are the very person I wished most to see.”
“Mr Hellier, I believe,” replied the other, who did not seem at all enthusiastic at the meeting. “What can I do for you?”
“Will you walk a few paces down the street?”
“Certainly.”
“It’s this way,” said Hellier. “I read in the papers this morning of a crime.”
“Which?”
“The murder of Mr Goldberg.”
“Yes, yes.”
“You remember what I said to you last night?”
“Perfectly.”
“Well, it occurred to me that this was the crime we were waiting for.”
“I was unaware4 that I was waiting for any crime,” said the other.
“Well, you remember my predicting that a crime of this nature would occur?”
“An easy prediction in London, where we have a murder every second day.”
“Not strangulation without an apparent motive5.”
“Well, well; what do you wish to say about it?”
“Well, convinced in my own mind that the author of this crime was also the criminal in the Gyde and Lefarge cases, I determined6 to come up here and look about.”
“To play the r?le of an amateur detective, in short.”
“Yes, but please don’t misunderstand me. My object is not curiosity. I will be frank with you. I love Mademoiselle Lefarge, and I can never hope to marry her till her father’s name is cleared.”
“You wish to marry this lady and cannot do so till her father’s name is cleared. Is that what I understand you to say?”
“Yes.”
“Well, shall I tell you how you can best help to clear her father’s name?”
“Yes.”
“Go home and forget about it all; leave the matter in the hands of professional men who know how to act. Nothing interferes8 so much with us as interference.”
“Perhaps, but you know chance sometimes gives a clue where intelligence fails to find any. What would you say if I told you that I believed I had seen Klein, the man you are looking for, this morning?”
Freyberger started, but recovered himself instantly.
“I would say that I believed you to be mistaken.”
“Yet I have seen a man whose face closely resembled that portrait you showed us last night.”
“Where?”
“In St Ann’s Road, close to St James’s Road. I strolled along it by chance this morning, after visiting the scene of the murder, and, coming out of one of the houses, I saw this man.”
“Yes?”
“I followed him to the High Street. There he got on to a motor-omnibus and I lost him.”
“You lost him!”
“It was not my fault, for I could not stop the omnibus and there were no cabs.”
“It does not in the least matter,” said Freyberger, in a tone of assumed indifference10, “for it was a thousand to one you were mistaken.”
“If that is your opinion,” said Hellier, angry at the other’s tone, “there is no use in our discussing the matter further. I wish you good day.”
“Stay a moment,” said Freyberger.
“Yes.”
“You say you saw this man coming out of a certain house. Can you recognize the house again?”
“Yes.”
“Well, as a matter of form, I will accompany you there.”
Hellier hesitated a moment, then he conquered his sense of pique11 and turned in the direction of Hammersmith.
They walked, scarcely exchanging a word. Freyberger’s mind was filled with anxiety, expectancy12 and a sense of deep irritation13.
There was something exasperating14 to him about Hellier. This outsider had already cast so much light on the case; was it destined15 that he should cast more?
“This is the house,” said Hellier, when they had reached the place.
“Empty,” replied Freyberger, looking over the railings.
It was the only detached residence in the road, all the other houses were semi-detached.
The garden was neglected and the front windows blindless and dusty.
Freyberger opened the gate and, followed by Hellier, walked up the path to the front door. He knocked and rang, but there was no reply.
“Let’s try the back,” said Freyberger; “some people live in the back premises16 and only keep a hall door for ornament17.”
But no one, apparently18, lived in the back premises of No. 18 St Ann’s Road.
A glassed-in verandah ran along the whole of the back.
Freyberger tried the verandah door, it was locked. Some green shelves, containing a few empty flower-pots, were visible; against one of the shelves stood a hoe, on the blade of the hoe some dark brown traces of earth proclaimed to the eye of the detective that the instrument had been used quite recently, and not for hoeing but for digging.
“There is no one here,” said Freyberger.
“No one now,” replied Hellier, “but there has been some one.”
“Oh, yes, no doubt; one might say the same of Sodom and Gomorrah, or Pompeii.”
“If Klein has been here, if this is one of his hiding places, he may come back.”
“If,” replied Freyberger.
They were walking back down the garden path.
At the gate Hellier made one last attempt to infect the detective with his own idea.
“Could you not get a search warrant and search the place?”
This remark completely broke Freyberger’s temper down, and the German came out.
“Search warrant! You talk like a child, not like a man. Warrant to search for what? Flower-pots? What I will do in the case I will do. I wish for no interference. I wish you good day.”
He turned to the left, towards Malpas Road. Hellier to the right.
“Fool,” thought Hellier, “pig-headed ass9; no matter—wait.”
“Swine-hound,” thought Freyberger; “directing me what to do! Search warrant!”
Freyberger turned the corner, walked a hundred yards down Malpas Road and then came back.
Hellier was not in sight. The detective waited for a moment or two to make sure, and then approached No. 18.
He entered the gate, closed it behind him, and made for the back garden.
Here he stood for a moment, looking about him with eager eyes. Then he began searching about on the ground attentively19, as a person searches who has dropped a coin.
There was a fairish sized grass plot, on which the grass was rank and long. A gravelled walk lay round it, and a flowerless flower bed between the walk and the garden wall.
There was no sign of a bootmark anywhere, though the ground was soft and there had been no frost on the previous night.
The gravel20 was disturbed on the walk leading to the verandah, but that was nothing.
In that portion of the garden where digging was possible there was no sign. Yet the hoe had been used quite recently, and a sure instinct told him that it had not been used in the front garden, where observation was possible, but here, in this place that was overlooked by nothing but blind walls and the back windows of an empty house.
Suddenly his eye was struck by an object upon the flower bed by the rear wall.
A half-withered21 cabbage leaf. There were withered leaves and to spare in the garden, but this was the only cabbage leaf. Nothing looked more natural or in keeping with the general untidiness of the place. A thousand men hunting for traces would have disregarded it.
Freyberger walked towards it and picked it up.
The bit of ground it had covered had been disturbed.
In a moment, digging with his naked hand, he had unearthed22 a flat, morocco leather-covered box. He opened it, it was a jewel case and empty. Upon the silk lining23 of the cover was the name and address:
“Smith and Wilkinson, Regent Street.”
Smith and Wilkinson, Sir Anthony Gyde’s jewellers.
He unearthed another box, and yet another.
The sweat stood out in beads24 upon his forehead.
There was something in the Gyde case that affected25 him as he had never been affected before. Perhaps it was some effluence from the obscure and diabolical26 mind with which he felt himself at war; perhaps it was the extraordinary intricacies of the pursuit, and the foreknowledge that the creature against whom he had pitted himself was at once a demon27, a genius and a madman. Perhaps it was on account of all these reasons that, when he unearthed these recent traces, his soul turned in him and a furious hunger and hatred28 filled his heart.
The hound hates the thing he is pursuing. The lion hates the buck29. All hunting is an act of vengeance30; not for food alone does the pursuer chase the pursued, but from some old antipathy31 begotten32 when the world was young.
At times Freyberger, in his unravelling33 of the Gyde case, was seized by an overmastering desire to have his hands upon the creature he was pursuing and to drag him to his death.
It is one of the laws of mind that the ferocity of the pursuer increases at each double and shift of the pursued.
Carefully searching with his hands in the soft earth and finding nothing else, Freyberger smoothed the soil, replaced the cabbage leaf and carefully effaced34 his traces on the gravel of the walk. Then, with the jewel cases in the pocket of his overcoat, he approached the house.
He examined the lock of the verandah door. The affair was so shaky that he could have burst it in with a kick, but violence was the last thing to be used. He drew from his pocket what the thieves of Madrid term a “matadore”; what the Apachés of Paris term a “nightingale”; what an honest man might call a piece of thick wire about a foot long, but of such material as to be fairly easily bent35 or straightened without danger of fracture.
He bent one end of this piece of wire and introduced it into the lock, just as a surgeon introduces a probe into a sinus. Having explored the mechanism36, he drew out the wire, rebent it, introduced it, and with a turn of his wrist opened the door.
Then he carefully pushed the bolt of the lock back, entered and pulled the door to.
There was nothing in the verandah, with the exception of the flower-pots, the hoe, and an old watering pot that had lost its rose.
The door leading into the house gave upon a passage floored with linoleum37. On the right lay a room entirely38 destitute39 of furniture, on the left a sitting-room40 decently furnished, with the embers of a fire still smouldering in the grate.
The remains41 of some food lay upon the table in the middle of the room, also upon the table a copy of The Daily Telegraph of that day.
This, then, was the den1 of the beast, the home of the demon. Nothing at all pointed42 to the fact. It was just the sitting-room of a man in somewhat reduced circumstances, an honest man, or a rogue43, as the case might be.
There was a tobacco jar on the mantelpiece, and in it tobacco and a bundle of cigarette papers; a pair of old slippers44 stood beside the armchair on the right of the fireplace.
A pile of newspapers stood in one corner of the room, and in another lay an old valise.
Freyberger opened the valise. There was a suit of clothes in it, nothing else—a frock coat and waistcoat and a pair of trousers.
They were evidently the production of a first class tailor, though the little squares of glazed45 linen46, bearing the customer’s name, which all good London tailors affix47 to their productions, both under the collar of the coat and inside the strap48 of the waistcoat, had been removed.
Freyberger returned the things to the valise and replaced it in the corner, then he began a minute inspection49 of the room.
He examined the pile of newspapers. They were all recent and dating from the day after the murder committed in the Cottage on the Fells. Daily Telegraphs, Daily Mails, Westminster Gazettes, every sort and condition of newspaper, and in each of them was a report, more or less full, more or less varying, of the Gyde mystery.
He returned them to their corner and resumed his search of the room, examining every hole and cranny, lifting the hearthrug and fender, exploring the contents of the trumpery50 vases on the chimneypiece and finding nothing of much importance, if we except the sheath of a case knife lying behind one of the vases.
He left the room and went upstairs to the bedrooms. They were all empty, clean swept and destitute of anything to hold the eye.
The person he was in pursuit of, if he lived in this house, evidently slept upon the old couch in the sitting-room, and did not trouble much about the conveniences of life.
Freyberger returned to the sitting-room, sat down in the armchair, just as though he were at home, took a cigar from his pocket and lit it.
He was in the tiger’s den. At any moment it was quite within the bounds of possibility that the door might open and the terror, having let himself in by the verandah, enter the room. This was not what made Freyberger feel uneasy, but rather the thought that the unknown might have noticed Hellier following him and taken fright.
Freyberger was quite unarmed; yet, had his sinister51 opponent entered the room at that moment, he would have arrested him just as he had arrested the Fashion Street murderer, and borne him, without doubt, in the same manner, to justice.
But though absolutely destitute of fear, he was by no means destitute of caution; and as he sat smoking and waiting, he was revolving52 in his mind the question of calling in help.
That involved leaving the house, and that might involve total failure.
At any moment the quarry53 might return. He decided54 to wait.
The door of the room and the door leading to the verandah were open, so that he could easily hear the approach of anyone from the back premises and quite as easily the approach of anyone from the hall door.
It was after half-past two now. The house was deathly still; there was not even the ticking of a clock, the whisper of a breath of wind from the garden outside or the movement of a mouse behind the wainscotings to break the silence.
Occasionally the rumble55 of a passing vehicle came from the road, nothing more.
It was after three when the watcher suddenly started, sat straight up in the armchair and listened intently.
The front garden gate had been opened and shut with a clang, a step sounded on the gravel and a loud double rap at the hall door brought Freyberger to his feet.
He sprang from the room, came down the passage, undid56 the chain and bolts of the hall door, unlatched it, flung it open and found on the steps a telegraph boy.
“Gyde?” said the boy, holding out a telegram.
“Yes,” said Freyberger, taking it.
The boy turned and went off whistling, and the detective, having rebolted the door, returned to the sitting-room with the telegram in his hand.
He tore it open.
“Handed in, London Street, Paddington, 2.15. Received, High Street, Kensington, 2.40.
“Be sure to meet me at six.”
That was all; no name, no address. Freyberger sat down in the armchair, with the telegram in his hand; he was thunderstruck.
He reread it, then looked at the envelope.
It was addressed:
“Gyde, 18 St Ann’s Road, Kensington.”
This thing quite upset his calculations. It was addressed simply to “Gyde.” It is not a common name; yet, of course, there were thousands of people of that name beside Sir Anthony. But, taking into account the jewel cases discovered, this telegram could have been sent to no one else but Sir Anthony.
That meant that he was alive. Freyberger was convinced that the man seen by Hellier was Klein. If Gyde were alive, then he must have been staying here at No. 18 St Ann’s Road. Klein had also been staying here. Therefore Gyde and Klein were working in collusion.
That would mean that Sir Anthony Gyde had entered into a partnership57 with this man, Klein—for what purpose?
For the purpose of murdering some unknown man in a cottage on the Fells of Cumberland, and doing it in such a manner that Klein would appear to be the victim and he, Sir Anthony Gyde, the murderer.
By extension it would mean that Lefarge, long ago, had entered into a similar partnership with Müller. The thing was preposterous58.
What, then, was the reason of this telegram?
All at once an explanation of it flashed across Freyberger’s mind. Could it be a “blind?” Could Klein, suspecting Hellier of following him, suspecting a trap of the police, have sent this message?
Freyberger had constructed Klein in his own mind from all sorts of fragments—the two photographs, his handwriting, his methods. The man, if he was a man and not a demon, was a master of subterfuge59.
The momentary60 insanity61 which had caused him to strangle Mr Goldberg would not in the least interfere7 with his reason.
“Now,” said Freyberger to himself, “if he noticed Hellier following him, his reasoning would have run like this:
“I left a man dead in a road close by here last night; I came out this morning and was followed by a man who was very much alive and who had something of the cut of a detective.
“No one saw me last night. Why, then, did this man follow me? Can it be that they suspect that I, who was supposed to be murdered in Cumberland, am alive? Can they have circulated my description? It will be safer for me not to go back to No. 18 St Ann’s Road, and, to confuse Messieurs the Police, should they set a trap there, I will send a telegram to Gyde at that address, so that they may be reconfirmed in their idea that Gyde is still in the land of the living and Klein in the land of the dead.
“No one saw me last night but the landlady62, and her description will scarcely help the police against me: a tall man with a black beard.
“Oh, damnation!”
Freyberger suddenly leapt to his feet.
“What possessed63 me! What possessed me to use such a simple artifice64 in the pursuit of this man, who, whatever else he may be, is half a logician65, half a magician?
“When he read that description in The Daily Telegraph this morning, what said he to himself? He said ‘Why this exact description of a man who was not there?
“‘It is either the landlady’s terror that caused her to see what was not, or it is a device of the police. Now the police never use a device like that, which, after all, clouds a case to a certain extent, unless they have some important reason.
“‘Of course, it may be simply due to the terror of the landlady, yet this false description, widely circulated, coupled with the fact that I have been followed, is, to say the least, suspicious.’
“That would be the line of his argument. Double fool that I was to forget that I was dealing66, not with a criminal but a genius in crime.
“This man forgets nothing, foresees everything.
“I have been a fool, and yet—” Freyberger’s face unclouded a bit. “Is there another man in London who would have dug into his plans so deeply as I have done, connected the Lefarge case with the Gyde case and proved him indubitably the prime mover in both?
“A few days ago I knew nothing about this man whom Sir Anthony Gyde is supposed to have murdered. What do I know now? What have I discovered by the aid of my own intelligence? I know his name, his face, his mind in part. I know that he has not been murdered by Gyde; I am almost assured that he has murdered Gyde.
“I know that, under the name of Müller, he was not murdered by Lefarge; I am almost assured that he murdered Lefarge. I know that he is a homicidal maniac67, whose pet method is strangulation.
“I know that he has about him Gyde’s jewellery, of which he is sure to try to dispose. I know that he has lived here; I know the address where he lived in Howland Street. But my most important knowledge is the knowledge of the statue and the bent of his mind.
“I have accumulated a mass of evidence that will damn him and crush him whenever I catch him, a mass of evidence that will clear two innocent men and expose to the world’s gaze the greatest and most complete villain68 that the world has ever beheld69. Come, it is not so bad. I have committed a fault; I tried to match him at his own game of subterfuge, and that telegram was my answer. Alas70! I am not so clever as he. But I have this in my favour, that I know much about him and he knows nothing about me.
“I have seen his hand, he has not seen mine.
“The question remains, what shall I do now? Remain here or go? Remain by all means, even if I have to remain till to-morrow morning. If he comes back I will seize him. If he does not come back, then I will know definitely that he has taken fright, that he suspects, and that he is, indeed, the murderer of Goldberg.”
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1
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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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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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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interferes
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| vi. 妨碍，冲突，干涉 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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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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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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begotten
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| v.为…之生父( beget的过去分词 )；产生，引起 | |
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unravelling
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| 解开，拆散，散开( unravel的现在分词 )； 阐明； 澄清； 弄清楚 | |
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effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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linoleum
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| n.油布，油毯 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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47
affix
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| n.附件，附录 vt.附贴，盖(章)，签署 | |
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48
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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49
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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50
trumpery
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| n.无价值的杂物；adj.（物品）中看不中用的 | |
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51
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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52
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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53
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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54
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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55
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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56
Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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57
partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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58
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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59
subterfuge
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| n.诡计；藉口 | |
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60
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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61
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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62
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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63
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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64
artifice
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| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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65
logician
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| n.逻辑学家 | |
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66
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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67
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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68
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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69
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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70
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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