We were received by the Countess
We were received by the Countess.
To face page 89.
Now, I am sorry to have to confess it, but that little speech of mine was destined to work an incalculable amount of harm. Castellan has confessed to me since that he was at first inclined to be somewhat distrustful of the Countess. When I informed him, however, that our hostess had been the guest of such a well-known personage as the Duke of Rotherhithe she figured in his eyes in a different light, with what result you shall presently hear.
On the broad landing at the head of the staircase we were received by the Countess. A more beautiful figure than she presented at that moment it would have been difficult to find. Perfectly dressed, carrying herself with a graceful assurance as to the manner born, she made an ideal hostess. If further evidence of her wealth were wanting, it might have been found in the magnificent diamond tiara she wore upon her head, in the broad collet of the same precious stones about her neck, and in the beautiful bracelets that encircled her wrists. Only once before could I recall such a display, and then the wearer was anEmperor's escort. As you may remember, when I first saw her in Paris, it had struck me that her attire was just one little point behind the "prevailing mode." Now, however, it was as near perfection as it was possible for human hands to make it. She greeted Castellan first.
"It is indeed kind of you, Mr Castellan, to come to me when every moment of your time is of such value," she said, as she shook hands with him. "I follow your doings with the greatest eagerness, and marvel that you should have the strength to accomplish so much."
"Have you ever discovered that stress of work promotes growth of power," said the Colonial Secretary. Then, with one of his inscrutable smiles, he added: "Pardon me, Countess, I had forgotten for the moment that your power does not depend upon your work!"
"Ah! I fear you intend a compliment," returned the lady with a smile. "Must it remain for a foreigner to remind you of your own Milton?
'What is strength without a double shareOf wisdom? vast, unwieldly, burdensome,Proudly secure, yet liable to fallBy weakest subtilities; not made to rule,But to subserve where wisdom bears command.'"
'What is strength without a double shareOf wisdom? vast, unwieldly, burdensome,Proudly secure, yet liable to fallBy weakest subtilities; not made to rule,But to subserve where wisdom bears command.'"
'What is strength without a double share
Of wisdom? vast, unwieldly, burdensome,
Proudly secure, yet liable to fall
By weakest subtilities; not made to rule,
But to subserve where wisdom bears command.'"
It was not difficult to see that the aptness of the quotation astonished the Colonial Secretary. The purity of the Countess's English was also a surprise to me; but for certain unmistakable indications it would not have been thought that she was a foreigner. When Castellan had passed on his way, she turned to me with a little gesture, as if she were pleased to welcome an old friend.
"Ah! Sir George," she said, "I am so pleased to see you. But I think I should give you a scolding for not having been before."
I hastened to excuse myself on the plea of over-work, and, having obtained forgiveness and promised to amend my conduct in the future, I passed on to shake hands with her father. When I had been again thanked for my kindness in the matter of the French train, I followed the Colonial Secretary into the ball-room. I had not been there many minutes before I was greeted by a voice, which I instantly recognised, saying: "How do you do, Sir George," and turning, I found myself face to face with the handsome young Count Reiffenburg, Madame's cousin.
"And how do you like London?" I enquired, after the usual polite salutations hadpassed between us. "I think I understood you to say, on the occasion of our crossing from Paris, that this was your first visit?"
"I like it very much," he replied, "but, to be candid, not so much as Paris. I trust that is not a rude thing to say in London?"
"Every one is entitled to express his own opinion," I answered, somewhat coldly, for I had taken an instinctive dislike to this young fellow. "You must remember that you are seeing England at her worst just now. The times are too anxious for us to be very gay."
"You refer to the war, I suppose?" he answered. Then he added with what I could not help thinking was intended for a sneer: "The war is the sensation of the moment."
"It naturally would be," I replied. "Though proverbially phlegmatic, we still have sufficient feeling left to be patriotic; but perhaps your sympathies are with the other side?"
"One can scarcely help feeling some sympathy——"
"My dear Conrad," said the Countess, who had come upon us unperceived, "I really cannot let you talk politics in my ball-room. Go away and find your partner at once. Prove to her that you have learned to valse in Vienna."
She tapped him playfully on the arm with her fan, but for my own part I could not help thinking that her words were not meant to be taken as lightly as she had spoken them. At any rate, the young man muttered something under his breath and left us.
"Conrad is a foolish but a warm-hearted boy," said the Countess, looking after him. "Because Messieurs les Boers don't wear uniforms, and are not nice to look at, he calls them patriots fighting for their country, and honours them as such."
"I fear there are many like him," I replied. "I trust, however, Countess, that we have the good fortune to possess your sympathy?"
"Could any one help sympathising with the handsome British officers?" she answered. "I have no doubt——"
At that moment a sudden buzz of excitement ran through the room, and she stopped without completing her sentence. It began near the door, and quickly spread from group to group. Whatever the news was, it caused a look of consternation to appear on every face.
"What can be the matter?" asked the Countess. "I wonder what they are all talking about?"
As she finished speaking the Colonial Secretary came up to us.
"I hope that you are not the bearer of evil tidings," said my companion to him. At the same moment I noticed that her face was very white, and that there was a frightened look in her eyes.
"We have just received terrible intelligence," he replied. "The steamer,Sultan of Sedang, with Sir Grey-Mortimer, his staff, and the first Midlandshire Regiment on board, has been blown up at Madeira, and only three men saved."
The shock was so terrible, that for a moment I stood as if tongue-tied.
"And Grey-Mortimer?" I asked, when I could speak.
"Killed," was the reply.
"Good Heavens! how terrible!" I said. "Are you quite sure it is true? How did you hear the news?"
"A message has just reached me from the Office," he replied. "There can be no doubt about it!"
"Woller first, now Grey-Mortimer," I said to myself. "What can it mean? I shall go to the Admiralty and obtain full particulars."
"I will accompany you," said the ColonialSecretary. "Good-night, Countess, and many thanks for your hospitality. I am sorry indeed that this news should have reached us at such a time."
"And I too," she answered. Then, turning to me, she continued: "I hope you will come and see me again, Sir George?"
As she said it, she looked into my face with a glance that would have set many hearts, less susceptible than mine, beating with unusual vigour. The memory of that look accompanied me down the stairs and remained with me for some time after I was seated in the Colonial Secretary's brougham. Then we set off to the Admiralty to learn the details of the disaster. Alas! as Castellan had said, it proved only too true. The steamshipSultan of Sedanghad reached Madeira safely, and had anchored in the Bay. Nothing of a suspicious nature occurred, nor was any boat seen near the ship after dark. Suddenly a terrific explosion was heard, and the great vessel was blown to pieces, the only men who escaped with their lives being a stoker, a sergeant in the Midlandshire regiment, and an officer's servant. At the time of telegraphing, boats were out searching the Bay, while the most careful investigationas to the cause of the disaster was proceeding on shore. The Colonial Secretary and I left the Admiralty when we had heard all there was to be told, and proceeded into the street once more. The coachman had been ordered not to wait, as we had decided to walk on home.
Late as the hour was the alarming intelligence had spread like wildfire through London, and already a considerable crowd had collected in Whitehall. Fortunately, Castellan and I were able to slip out unrecognised, and then we set off in the direction of Trafalgar Square. The Colonial Secretary's residence, as all the world is aware, is in Carlton House Terrace. At the corner of the small thoroughfare that winds its way from Cockspur Street into Carlton House Terrace, we stopped, and stood for some moments conversing there together. Then we wished each other good-night, Castellan going down the narrow street of which I have spoken, while I proceeded along Pall Mall and Piccadilly in the direction of my own abode. My thoughts were the reverse of pleasant as I strode along. A Cabinet Council had been summoned for the following morning, and, with this sad intelligence to be brought before it, there could beno doubt that it was likely to be a gloomy one.
Next morning I rose early. I had a large amount of work to get through before the meeting, which was to take place at eleven o'clock. At a quarter to that hour I drove down to Whitehall, and made my way to the Foreign Office.
"This is terrible news indeed, Manderville," said the Prime Minister, as we shook hands. "Poor Grey-Mortimer and all those gallant men! I scarcely like to think of the effect it will produce upon the country. First, that succession of disastrous defeats, then Woller's extraordinary disappearance, and now this new catastrophe. However, as we shall have to discuss that directly, I will say no more at present. Are we all here?"
There was only one person who had not arrived, the Colonial Secretary.
"It's not like Castellan to be unpunctual," said the Prime Minister. "Doubtless, however, it won't be long before he puts in an appearance."
When ten minutes had elapsed and still he did not come, a messenger was despatched to the Colonial Office in search of him. It was not long before he returned with theinformation that Castellan had not yet arrived at his office. Close upon the heels of this message came another from Mrs Castellan anxiously inquiring for her husband, who, it appeared, had not come home on the previous night, nor had any communication been received from him. As I heard this a great fear took possession of me. I had said good-night to him in Cockspur Street, only a few paces from his own front door, and had seen him walk in that direction. How was it, then, that he had not reached it? Was he the victim of a plot? Had he disappeared like Woller, never to be heard of again?
Some idea of the wave of consternation which swept over England, when it became known that the Right Honourable Benjamin Castellan, Secretary of State for the Colonies had disappeared as mysteriously as Sir William Woller had done before him, will be derived when I say that edition after edition of the evening papers had been sold by three o'clock in the afternoon. It was in every sense a grave national calamity, for, as we all know, at this particular juncture in the country's history, Benjamin Castellan, of all others, was the man who could least be spared.
"You are sure, I suppose, Sir George, that Castellan intended going home after you parted in Cockspur Street," the Prime Minister enquired, looking at me along the table.
"As certain as I am of anything," I replied. "He complained of feeling tired, andlaughingly declared his intention of going to bed early, in order that he might be fresh for our meeting this morning."
"He did not seem depressed in any way, I suppose?" put in the First Lord of the Admiralty.
"He was naturally extremely downcast by the news we had received concerning theSultan of Sedang, but in no other sense," I answered. "I am sorry now that I did not walk with him to his door as I originally intended doing."
"It is, perhaps, as well that you did not," asserted one of the others, "for in that case we might have lost you too. Surely my Lord," he continued, addressing the Prime Minister, "the Police Authorities should be able to obtain some clue respecting his disappearance? Deserted as the passage usually is at that hour of the night, for I have passed through it myself, theremusthave been some one in the main thoroughfares at either end who would have given the alarm had they noticed anything out of the common."
"It is not altogether certain that the crime, if crime it is—and of that we have as yet no evidence—was perpetrated in the passage of which you speak," said the Prime Minister;"but wherever, or however, the deed was committed, the Police I am sure will do their utmost to unravel the mystery. The mere fact that General Woller's disappearance has not yet been accounted for is giving rise to a vast amount of uneasiness. That the same fate should have befallen Mr Castellan will not be likely to add to the public peace of mind. I am sure the Secretary of State for the Home Department will do all that lies in his power to see that no time is lost in bringing the offenders to justice."
When the meeting broke up I made my way with all haste to Carlton House Terrace, in order to assure my friend's wife of my sympathy, and to help her in any way that lay in my power. Prostrated with grief though she was, she consented to see me, and I was accordingly admitted to her presence.
"Oh, Sir George!" she cried, hastening forward to greet me, "is it possible that you bring news of him? Ah! I can see you do not."
She threw herself into a chair with a little cry of despair, and for a moment I scarcely knew what to say to comfort her.
"We must hope for the best, Mrs Castellan,"I said at last, and then added with an assurance that my heart was far from sharing—"no one knows what the next few hours may bring forth."
"But where can he be?" she cried—"and who can have been base enough to harm him? I know that he has enemies, as every man who has made a great name for himself must have, but I cannot think of one who would go so far as to rob me of him. Oh! it is too cruel! too cruel!"
We were still talking when news reached us that two members of the Police Department had arrived, and were anxious for an interview.
"I cannot see them," the poor lady declared. "I can tell them nothing that they do not know!"
"Then let me see them for you," I said. "I think I can answer any questions they may ask, and at the same time it will spare you the pain such an interview would entail."
"God bless you for your kindness! You are a true friend."
I thereupon left her, and followed my colleague's secretary along the hall in the direction of the study.
"This is a sad affair indeed, Mr Gedge,"I said, after we had left the morning-room. "I presume you have never heard Mr Castellan say anything as to his being shadowed by any one?"
"Never," he replied; "though I will confess that I have suggested to him on numerous occasions the advisability of having a companion with him when he walked home late at night from the House. That, you remember, was a favourite habit of his. He used to say that the fresh air revived him after a long debate."
"And he was quite right," I replied. "Now let us hear what the police have to say."
The two members of the Detective Force, who had been detailed to take charge of the case, rose as we entered the room. They seemed somewhat surprised at seeing me, but upon my informing them how I came to be connected with the matter, willingly excused Mrs Castellan from attendance.
"Do I understand you to say that you were the last of his friends to see Mr Castellan before his disappearance?" asked the taller of the two men, who looked more like a burly Yorkshire farmer than a member of the Scotland Yard Detective Force.
"It would appear so," I replied. "Weleft Wiltshire House on hearing the news of the disaster to theSultan of Sedang, drove to the Admiralty to learn the latest particulars, and then, having dismissed the carriage, strolled as far as Cockspur Street in each other's company."
"And you parted at the passage that leads from Cockspur Street into Carlton House Terrace, I believe?" said the other man. "You did not happen to notice whether any person was following you, I suppose?"
"I don't fancy either of us looked round during the whole distance," I answered, with an inward wish that I had been suspicious enough to have taken that simple precaution. "We had too much to occupy our thoughts without observing the actions of other people."
"And how long did you remain on the pavement? I should be obliged if you would endeavour to be as accurate as possible, sir, in your answer to this question."
I considered a moment before I replied.
"Between eight and ten minutes I should say, certainly not more. I remember comparing my watch with a clock above the shop window at the corner, and remarking as I did so that I was nearly three minutes slow."
"In that case you should be able to fixthe time of his leaving you to within a minute or two," said the elder of the two men, taking a note-book and pencil from his pocket as he spoke.
"I can do so exactly. It was five minutes past twelve when we bade each other good-night."
"Was any one near you on the pavement while you were standing talking?"
"No one, the street was almost deserted."
"I notice that you sayalmostdeserted, sir. Then there were other people in sight. Do you happen to remember if any one was standing near you—that is to say, within fifty feet or so?"
"I recollect that there was a policeman on the opposite side of the road. Two youths in evening dress, both far from sober, passed at the moment that we stopped. Stay, now I come to think of it, there was an old woman near us just before we said good-night to each other, and, if my memory serves me, she disappeared down the narrow passage. It is strange that I should have forgotten the circumstance."
"An old woman? Can you give me a rather more detailed description of her? Of what class was she?"
"Of the very poorest, I should say, and half witted. She was in rags, and was muttering some gibberish to herself. I am afraid I cannot tell you any more about her."
"That is rather a pity," said his companion. "I should like to have a little conversation with that good lady."
"You surely don't think she had anything to do with the Colonial Secretary's disappearance?" I replied with some surprise. "Why, she couldn't have had sufficient strength to harm a child, much less a strong, active man such as Mr Castellan was."
"Perhaps not, sir; it's just possible, however, that she may have had friends to do the work for her. I don't say, of course, that shehadanything to do with it, but it is our duty to look after every detail, and my experience has taught me that the most unexpected places often provide the most likely clues. Let us suppose, for instance, that she was only the decoy bird, and that the real perpetrators of the crime were concealed in the passage. As soon as she had discovered Mr Castellan, she passed into the lane and bade her confederates be on the alert; then, when he appeared, they would be ready to effect his capture. Doesn't that plot seem feasible enough, sir?"
"Very feasible," I felt compelled to admit; "but your case, like the proverbial figures, can be made to prove anything. However, if you think the old woman had anything to do with it, what action do you propose to take?"
"I shall try the street first, and endeavour to discover whether any one heard a scuffle or cries for help last night. Then it's possible the police on the beat may know something of the old woman, and be able to give us an insight into her character and identity. In the meantime, if Mrs Castellan will permit it, I will interview the servants and endeavour to discover whether they noticed any suspicious characters loitering about near the house."
"I am sure Mrs Castellan will be only too pleased if you will do what you deem necessary," I replied.
The man thanked me, and the necessary orders were given for the servants to be ushered into the room. One by one they were subjected to a rigorous cross-examination at the hands of the two detectives. Neither the butler nor any of the men-servants had noticed anything suspicious in the front of the house, nor had they seen any old woman, answering to my description, hanging about thepremises. The housekeeper and cook were equally positive in their assertions; indeed, the only person who had noticed anything peculiar was a young housemaid, who declared that she had seen two well-dressed men pass the house on three different occasions during the day. Each time they used the small passage to which reference has been so often made. When pressed to describe them more accurately, she was unable to do so.
"They were just ordinary gentlemen," she said, "dressed in frock coats and silk hats, and they might have, or might not have, carried umbrellas in their hands." Further than this she declared she could not go, not if her life depended upon it.
"What makes you so sure that they passed three times?" asked the smaller of the two detectives.
"Because I saw them first after breakfast, sir," the girl replied, "then in the middle of the morning, and the last time just before dinner."
This being all that could be extracted from her, the girl was dismissed from the room, and Mr Castellan's valet was recalled. From him an exact description of the clothes the missing man was wearing, and a record of thejewellery he had about his person, was obtained.
"This is no ordinary case of robbery," said the elder detective, "but it is always as well to know these things. One never knows how useful they may prove later on."
After asking a few more questions, they thanked me for the information I had given them and prepared to leave the house.
"You will be sure to acquaint Mrs Castellan with any discovery you may make?" I said. "I should like to be able to assure her of that?"
"You may, sir. She shall know directly we hear of anything."
Then they bowed themselves out, and I was at liberty to make my missing colleague's wife acquainted with the result of our interview. I found her still prostrated with grief and anxiety, a prey to the most agonising thoughts. I did what I could to comfort her, though I felt that my ministrations could do her no good. In my own heart I was quite certain that Castellan had been spirited away by the same mysterious agency that had deprived us of Woller. What that agency was, however, was more than I, or any one of us, could determine. When I left Carlton House TerraceI drove to the Foreign Office, where I had a consultation with the Prime Minister which lasted upwards of an hour, after which I returned to my residence.
I had intended going into the country that afternoon, but, in the light of this new calamity, I changed my mind and resolved to remain in Town. Accordingly, after lunch I drove to my office, and remained there until towards evening. By three o'clock, as I have already said, the terrible intelligence was known all over the town. In all my experience I cannot remember a scene of greater excitement. Downing Street, in particular, was filled with an enormous crowd, eager to learn the latest news. In the public mind Castellan's disappearance figured as the work of an enemy, very probably by reason of the prominent part he had played in the history and development of the war. The wildest rumours were afloat concerning the affair, and every edition of the evening papers contained some new item connected with it. At four o'clock I bade my secretary telephone to Scotland Yard and enquire whether they had any information to impart. The reply was to the effect that their labours had so far been entirely fruitless. As in poor Woller's case, not a trace of themissing man could be discovered. Castellan could not have vanished more completely had he been caught up to the sky at the very moment that I had said "good-bye" to him.
"It is really most uncomfortable for every one concerned," my secretary remarked. "If this sort of thing is to continue, one does not know who the next victim may be."
He was quite right; one certainlydid notknow. This much, however, was quite certain: whoever the persons might be who perpetrated the crime, they were past masters of their art. Their arrangements and the general conduct of the affair was perfection itself, and against such science it was almost impossible to guard. For my own part—and I don't think my worst enemies can accuse me of cowardice—I must confess to a distinct feeling of uneasiness when I reflected that this mysterious individual, or band, might possibly try his, or their, hand upon me. The suggestion emanating from Scotland Yard to the effect that we should avail ourselves of the offer of police protection, I politely, but firmly declined. The idea of being shadowed night and day by detectives was more than distasteful to me.
"Yet we do not desire to lose you, Sir George," said the Prime Minister later, and in saying it he was kind enough to pay me a compliment which my modesty will not permit me to repeat here. I owe him an apology in this matter, however, for I now see that he was right. If I should have to go through it all again, however, I feel that I should act as I did then.
At half-past four o'clock I left the office—by the back door this time, for I had no desire to be recognised by the crowd—and when I had crossed the Horse Guards Parade, set off in the direction of Marlborough House. As I walked along I thought of Castellan and of our meeting on the previous night. How little he had dreamt when he had carried on his airy badinage with Madame de Venetza that in less than three hours he would be gone from the sight of men! This naturally led me to think of the Countess. I recalled the expression upon her face, and the look in her eyes, when she had invited me to visit her again, and though, as I have said before, I do not in any way consider myself a lady's man, I am willing to confess that the recollection of her condescension gave me considerable satisfaction.
Not feeling in the humour for Piccadilly, and the raucous voices of the newsboys shouting—
"DISAPPEARANCE OF THE SECRETARY OF STATEFOR THE COLONIES:DISAPPEARANCE OF MR CASTELLAN!"
I continued my walk across the green Park in the direction of Hyde Park Corner. It was a beautiful evening, and in the twilight the Park presented as peaceful a scene as the soul of man could desire. Reaching the exit opposite Hamilton Place, I stood for a moment wondering whether I should cross into Hyde Park or stroll leisurely home. What it was I cannot say, but for some reason or another I had a strange desire for the companionship of my fellow men or women. It may have been that the sudden disappearance of Castellan had upset me more than I supposed. At any rate, I was far from being myself. As I stood there an idea struck me, and I wondered why it had not occurred to me before. What was there to prevent my visiting the Countess that evening? She had declared that she would be very glad to see me whenever I might call.
My mind was no sooner made up than I crossed the road and steered a course for Wiltshire House. On the way many friends would have stopped me had I permitted them to do so, but I strode resolutely along, paying no heed to them beyond returning their salutations. At last I reached the Countess's house and learnt that she was not only at home but would receive visitors. I found her in her boudoir seated before a bright fire, though the day had been comparatively warm.
"It is kind indeed of you to take pity upon my loneliness, Sir George," she said, as she rose to receive me. "No one could be more welcome. I have been feeling so very sad this afternoon, and now your society will cheer me up."
"You have heard of Mr Castellan's disappearance, I suppose?" I remarked, as I seated myself in the chair she indicated. "It has shocked you as it has done all of us!"
"Have you any way of accounting for it?" she asked.
"None whatever," I replied. "The whole affair is shrouded in mystery. The police are unable to discover the faintest clue to work upon."
"It will have a very serious effect upon thecountry, will it not?" she enquired. "He has played such a conspicuous part in politics of late!"
"He will be missed, I fear," I answered, and stopped there, for I had no desire to discuss current politics just then.
Putting the topics of the day on one side, we at last came to the duration of her stay in London.
"I scarcely know how long we shall remain," she said. "I fancy my father is growing tired of London already. The war is perhaps accountable for it, but England is too sad just now. I do not like sad places. I prefer the sun, the warmth, the glitter, and to have smiling faces about me. I am afraid I must be peculiarly constituted, for the least thing is sufficient to raise or depress me." Then suddenly brightening up, she continued: "But there; what a foolish hostess I am to talk to you in this fashion. I shall frighten you away, and then you will not come and see me any more. I have no desire to lose so good a friend."
Man of the world though I was, the compliment tickled my vanity, and I hastened to reply in a suitable fashion. Then I congratulated her upon the success which hadattended her "At Home" on the previous evening.
"In the matter of an 'At Home' it is not so very difficult to be successful," she replied. "One has only to givecarte blancheto one's cook and house-steward, dress oneself in one's best, and stand at the head of the stairs to receive one's guests with a conventional smile upon one's face. A dinner is a somewhat more difficult affair, and there, I think, without vanity, I may justly pride myself upon my ability. A cosy little dinner for, let us say, not more than eight people, each to be most carefully selected. Will you make one of them?"
"I shall be delighted," I replied. "But may it not be a competition? My man has ambition. Why not let me try to equal your effort, even if I cannot excel it?"
"Try, by all means. And the prize?"
"The knowledge of success! What prize could be more worth winning?"
"It is settled then?" she returned. "We are each to give a dinner and to endeavour to outdo each other. I shall make my arrangements accordingly."
After that we drifted into a discussion upon books, pictures, and, by the natural transitionof things, came at last to music. On this subject she was as well informed as upon every other.
"It is my passion," she said in explanation. "My piano is the greatest treasure I possess. I could not live without it."
"I felt certain from the first that you were a musician," I replied. "I wonder if I could induce you to play to me?"
"I will do so with pleasure if you wish it?" she answered, and accordingly crossed the room to the corner where the piano stood. Prepared as I was to find her a goodpianiste, I did not dream for a moment that her talent was so great. As it was, she fascinated me from the moment that her fingers touched the keys. In explanation I might here remark that I am particularly susceptible to music, and now, under her influence, I sat spell-bound. The work was Saint Saën's "Danse Macabre," and in her hands the fierce madness of that remarkable composition was brought out with more than its usualdiablerie.
In order to understand what is to follow, it must be remembered that I was seated near the fire-place, and that her piano was at the further end of the room, so that, placed as I was, I could not see my hostess.
Having once felt the divineafflatus, she played on and on, without stopping to enquire whether I was tired, wandering from master to master as the fancy seized her. Such was the effect of the music upon me, that in a short time I became scarcely conscious of mundane affairs. A delicious languor was stealing over me, and little by little I felt my eyes closing. The music appeared to be growing gradually fainter, until it could scarcely be heard. I tried to rouse myself, but was unable to do so. At last, even the inclination to battle with the feeling of drowsiness left me, and I abandoned myself to my fate.
Whether I fell asleep and dreamt what I am about to describe, or whether the Countess, in the exercise of a deadly power which I feel convinced she possessed, had hypnotized me, I cannot say. The fact remains, that in my mind's eye, for my eyes were closed, I saw her rise from the instrument and approach me. Then, she came closer, stopped, and stooped over me until her eyes were close to mine. There was a light in them that pierced my eyelids and penetrated to the centre of my brain.
"It is useless for you to strive with me,"she said; "you are mine, and must do my bidding."
Then she began to question me on certain matters connected with the war and with European politics. I appeared to be telling her secrets, so vital in their importance, that to have breathed them aloud to the world would have been to run the risk of causing the most serious international complications. Yet, still powerless to resist, I answered the questions as they were put to me, keeping nothing back. When she had learnt all that she wanted to know, she moved away from me, and returned to the piano. Then once more she began to play, the music growing louder and more distinct as it progressed. Then I woke, to find her still playing the same piece as when I had closed my eyes. When she had finished it, she rose from her seat.
"I think of all the great masters, I prefer Chopin," she said, as she crossed the room. "Yes, I am certain that he stands first in my admiration."
Her manner was so open, so sincere, that the suspicion I had been tempted to entertain against her vanished in a trice. It was all imagination, I told myself. Under the influence of her music I must have fallen asleep anddreamt it all. Had I not good proof of this? Had it really happened, it would have taken nearly a quarter of an hour for me to impart the information she had asked of me. Yet the long hand of the clock upon the mantel-piece had only advanced three minutes since I had last looked at it. How comforting this assurance was to me I must leave you to understand. It was the most singularly vivid dream, however, I had had in my life, and, but for the evidence of the clock, and the sincerity of the Countess's manner, I could have sworn that the incident I have just described had really occurred. Yet there was another side to the question. I had fallen asleep while paying an afternoon call, and the idea disquieted me more than I cared to admit. Then a servant entered with tea, and under the influence of the Countess's Pekoe and fashionable chit-chat my powers of conversation returned to me. At last I rose to take leave.
"I fear I have paid you an unconscionably long visit," I said. "Your beautiful music, however, must be blamed for my over-stepping the bounds of politeness. I hope you will forgive me?"
"It has been a pleasure to me to play toyou," she answered. "One does not always have such a sympathetic audience."
With that I left her, and on reaching the street turned in the direction of the Park.
"I should have just time enough for a sharp walk before I dress," I said to myself, and took my watch from my pocket and glanced at the dial. The clock on the mantel-piece of the Countess's boudoir, when I had said good-bye to her, had pointed to half-past five. My watch showed a quarter to six. This was very singular, for I remembered looking at my watch as I stood in the portico, after ringing the bell, and also my laughing remark to the Countess to the effect that I was glad to have found her at home at such an hour, glancing at the clock as I did so. Yet now there was a difference of rather more than a quarter of an hour between the two? What did this signify? Could the Countess's clock have stopped while she was playing and then have gone on again of its own accord? It was scarcely likely that, while I was asleep, she had risen from the piano and had set it going, for going it certainly was when I bade her good-bye. The remembrance of the dream I had had still weighed heavily upon my mind, and, do what I would, I couldnot throw it off. Yet how absurd it was. Moreover, though I had more than once suspected her of taking an interest in European politics, she had always denied the fact to me. Besides, even if this were so, and granted that she had the power, what reason could she possibly have had for extracting secrets from me? At this point the remembrance of her eyes and the singular influence they had had over me in Paris, returned to me.
"What does it all mean?" I asked myself, as if in despair of arriving at a definite conclusion.
I was to find that out, however, in good time!
You will remember that in the preceding chapter I described to you the conflicting emotions with which I viewed my now famous call at Wiltshire House. Beyond remarking that I was quite at a loss to account for it, and that the passing of time did not throw any further light upon the mystery, I need say no more about it. There is so much to tell of vital importance, that it behoves me to be economical of space. Needless to say, the Colonial Secretary's disappearance continued to attract its full measure of public attention. Despite the endeavours of the police, however, no clue of any sort could be discovered, either as to his present whereabouts, or as to the manner of his departure. Enormous rewards were offered, but without success. He was gone, and that was all that could be said about it.
Meanwhile, the most alarming telegrams were being received from the Front. Dayafter day the news of reverses filled the columns of the Public Press, until it began to look as if the prestige of England would be destroyed for ever and a day. Parliament had by this time assembled, and questions innumerable were addressed to the Secretary of State for War as to the reasons for the deplorable condition of affairs at the Front. Public opinion was at fever heat, and only a small spark was needed to bring about an explosion. Troops were pouring out of England by every available boat, while the Home Defence Force was being increased to its utmost limit. Never since the Crimea had such a state of affairs been known, and never had the resources of the Empire been so severely taxed. Then came the news of the loss of another transport at sea, a catastrophe ascribed to the presence on board of a clock-work infernal machine; this was followed by the stranding of theSon of Neptune, with the 36th Lancers on board, at Las Palmas, by which the horses and men, so badly needed at the seat of war, were detained on the Island inactive until another vessel could be sent from England to pick them up and convey them to their destination.
By this time every one, save those whomthe most visible proof would not convince, had arrived at the conclusion that we were fighting, not only our ostensible and declared enemies, the two South African Republics, but also another powerful yet mysterious foe, whose machinations were responsible for the disappearance of Woller and the Colonial Secretary, for the blowing up of theSultan of Sedang, the destruction of theSon of Neptune, and sundry other occurrences so vividly and painfully impressed upon the public mind. Then, for upwards of a fortnight, a respite was given us, and the British taxpayer was able to take up his paper without finding the news of some new misfortune, for which he would eventually be called upon to pay for both in money and self-esteem, described in its columns. It was fortunate that we could not foretell the even greater troubles that were still in store for us.
One memorable Friday morning, exactly a fortnight after my call at Wiltshire House, a rumour ran through the town to the effect that Woolwich Arsenal had been destroyed. Knowing the precautions that were taken at that splendid institution to guard against such a thing, the report was at first discredited. It was soon found, however, to be only too true.A terrific explosion had taken place, a large number of employees had been killed and wounded, while the works, then so vitally necessary, were placed at a complete standstill. The lamentable occurrence was reported to the House by the Home Secretary that afternoon, and, as usual, the authorities declared there was no clue to guide the police in their search for the author of the dastardly deed. It was in vain that questions were asked in the House; in vain that public orators demanded of the authorities that they should exercise more care in guarding their institutions; in vain that the man in the street forwarded his theories, and suggested remedies, to the Press. England had a mysterious enemy who could think as well as act, and who, when he has finished his work, left no trace behind to lead to his identification.
In consequence of the excitement caused by the last disaster, the guards upon all the public buildings were doubled, no precaution was omitted that wisdom could dictate, and then we waited to see where the next blow would fall. In this fashion another fortnight went by, during which an incident of no small importance occurred. Quite by chance an explanation was forthcoming as to how the newsof the series of disasters that had been our portion in South Africa during the last few weeks reached our shores. It was discovered that the cable, the only one then working, had been cleverly tampered with, the wires milked, to use an American expression, and a doctored version sent home for consumption. This was corroborated by the mail reports, and despatches describing the course of events in South Africa. Henceforth the most rigid precautions were taken to guard against a repetition of this practice, and then once more we sat down to wait.
I had seen nothing of the Countess for some time. The fright I had received on the last occasion that I had called upon her, was still sufficiently impressed upon my memory to make me a little chary of allowing her to obtain so much influence over me. As will doubtless be agreed, this was a somewhat contradictory decision on my part, for in arriving at it, I had no excuse to offer, save that I entertained for her a mixture of admiration and, I might almost say, of innate distrust. The admiration was easily accounted for; the distrust was somewhat more difficult to explain. Was she not the bosom friend of many of the greatest people in the land? She was to be met everywhere, and wasas well known a personage in London Society as Royalty itself. Her father, it appeared, had left England for the Continent, and it was doubtful when he would return. Her cousin was still with her, and was to be encountered at every social gathering of importance. Young, handsome, and the reported possessor of considerable wealth, it was small wonder that he found himself in request, when so many young men were absent from England. I have stated that I did not care for the young Count Reiffenburg, and now I will go even further by saying that the more I saw of him the less I liked him.
At this point in my story it is necessary for me to describe a circumstance, which, though at the time it puzzled me considerably, can now be very easily explained. It occurred on a night when the House sat scarcely so late as usual. As a matter of fact it was but little after midnight when I set off to walk home. For a time after the disappearance of the Colonial Secretary, I had declined to be shadowed by a detective, but now, hearkening to the voice of Prudence, I had consented to be shadowed by a detective whenever I took my walk abroad. Since I am fond of walking, particularly at night, I am afraid myown particular shadow had rather a hard time of it. He never complained, however, but, faithful to his duty, kept me continually in view, obtruding himself upon my notice as little as possible. The feeling engendered by the knowledge that a man is continually behind one, watching all one does, is the reverse of pleasant. However, like everything else in life, one gets used to it, and after a time I took no notice of it. On this particular occasion, the night being so beautiful, the moon was full, I remember, I strolled leisurely home, my thoughts centred on the debate that had taken place that night. There is a solemnity about Trafalgar Square at midnight, particularly when viewed by the light of the moon, that is far from being its principal characteristic by day. As I passed the spot where I had said good-bye to poor Castellan a few weeks before, I could not suppress a shudder.
Leaving Cockspur street behind me, I passed on to Piccadilly, afterwards proceeding by way of Berkeley Square to my abode. By the time I reached my own door I was in the full enjoyment of the night. It seemed a pity to shut oneself up in the house when it was so lovely outside. I therefore waited until my faithful follower came up to me, and theninformed him that I intended going on for a further stroll.
"There is not the least necessity for you to come," I said. "You may go home to bed as soon as you like."
"I think I would prefer to accompany you, sir," the man replied. "I am on duty all night, and if anything were to happen to you, it would be my fault."
"Very well, then," I answered, "come along."
So saying, we resumed our walk, with the difference that on this occasion I kept the man beside me. He proved an interesting companion, having seen life under a variety of aspects, and in so doing had naturally come in contact with many strange characters. What was more, he had the faculty of being able to put them before you in a novel and interesting light. He had been three times to America in search of criminals, once to India, and once to Australia.
By the time I had heard his experiences in the last-named country we had reached Park Lane, and were drawing near Wiltshire House. At the corner we called a halt, while I felt in my pocket for a match for my cigar. We were standing in deep shadow, Wiltshire House being on thefurther side of the road, and in the full light of the moon. Having found a match, I was about to strike it, when the figure of a man on the opposite side of the street attracted my attention. The moonlight was so bright that I could see him quite distinctly. He was of the poorest class, evidently a street loafer of the description to be seen any night stretched out on the grass of the Park. My astonishment may be imagined, therefore, when I saw him deliberately ascend the three steps leading to the side door of Wiltshire House. He paused for a moment, then the door was softly opened to him, and he passed inside. Scarcely able to believe the evidence of my eyes, I turned to the man beside me and enquired if he had noticed it? He admitted that he had.
"What does it mean?" I asked. "Is it a case of burglary, do you think?"
"It looks like it, sir," he replied. "Whatever it is, he has got a confederate inside."
"What do you think had better be done?" I enquired. "The Countess de Venetza is a personal friend, and I cannot allow her house to be robbed without making an effort to prevent it."
"We had better call the policeman on thebeat," the man replied; "after that we can arouse the household. There shouldn't be much difficulty in securing the fellow. If you wouldn't mind keeping your eye on that door for a few minutes, sir, I'll go off and find the constable."
I willingly agreed to watch the door, and the detective departed on his errand. In something less than five minutes he returned, bringing two policemen with him. The men had evidently been informed of my identity, for they saluted respectfully, and one of them enquired what I wished done in the matter.
"I think the better plan would be to call up the house-steward and inform him of what we have seen," I replied. "You will then be able to search the house and effect the capture of the burglar."
Leaving us to guard the door through which the old man had entered, one of the policemen went round to the front of the house. The other ascended the steps and rang the bell. To his first summons there was no response, so he rang again. The bell echoed in the basement of the great house, this time to some purpose, for a few minutes later a shuffling footstep was heard within. Then the key turned in the lock and the door wasopened on the chain to the extent of a few inches.
"Who's there?" asked a man's voice.
"Police," answered the officer. "I'm here to warn you that there's a man has just got into the house. Somebody let him in at this door."
"Man got into the house?" was the alarmed response. "You don't mean that, I hope, policeman?"
"I do," replied the constable. "You had better let us come in and have a look round. We've been watching the house and he hasn't come out yet. My mate's round at the front, and there's a detective officer here. Get a candle and we'll go through the rooms with you."
The thought that he was to be called upon to assist in the arrest of a burglar was too much for the old man. He tremblingly invited the officer to lead the way down the stairs to the basement. While they were absent we remained at the door, expecting every minute to hear the sound of a scuffle from within. Five minutes or so later they ascended once more and the constable shook his head.
"Wherever else he is, sir," he said, addressing me, "he's not down there."
The words had scarcely left his lips before the door at the further end of the passage opened, and the Countess herself stood before us. Much to my astonishment I saw that she was in full evening dress. Her appearance was so entirely unexpected that I could only stare at her in surprise.
"What does this mean?" she enquired, with a haughtiness that sat well upon her. "Why, surely it is Sir George Manderville! What can have happened? This is rather a late hour for a call, Sir George!"
I explained what had occurred, told her of the man I had seen enter by the side door, and whom I was perfectly certain had not come forth again.
"Then he must be in the house now," she cried in a voice of alarm. "Who can it be, and who could possibly have let him in?"
"Some dishonest member of your household," I replied. "It would be as well if you were to find out who that person is. In the meantime, let me beg of you to permit the officers to search the house."
To this she willingly assented, at the same time bidding the steward rouse the housekeeper.
"While the search is proceeding won't youcome to my boudoir, Sir George?" she said. "I have been sitting there reading since I returned from the theatre, and I am quite sure that the wretch, whoever he may be, is not in that part of the building."
I followed her to the room in question, which was on the other side of the house, and we were about to enter it, when the sound of a footstep upon the stairs attracted my attention, and I looked up, to see her cousin, Count Reiffenburg, descending towards us.
"What is the matter?" he asked. "Why, Sir George Manderville, I did not expect to findyouhere!"
I briefly explained the situation to him, whereupon he remarked, with that curious smile upon his face:—"It seems that you are destined always to prove our benefactor. But while we are talking here the man may make his escape. I think I will go round with the police, and see if I can be of any assistance to them."
He left us, and for something like ten minutes the Countess and I waited for the sound that was to proclaim the capture of the intruder. But no such good fortune rewarded us. If the man were in the house—and of this I had no doubt—he had managed toconceal himself so effectually that the police could not find him. In the meantime the housekeeper had put in an appearance, and was despatched to interrogate the female domestics, and discover, if possible, who it was that had opened the door. She returned with the information that she had found all the maid-servants in bed and asleep, while the steward was equally certain that none of the men under his charge had anything to do with the occurrence. At last, after searching the house, the police were compelled to confess that they were at a loss to understand what had become of him.
"But there can be no doubt about his being here," I declared; "I distinctly saw him enter. He was an old man, very ragged, with long grey hair, and stooped as he walked. The detective officer who was with me at the time can also corroborate what I say, if necessary."
"That is not necessary, for of course we accept your word," said Reiffenburg with elaborate politeness. "The question is: if, as you say, he entered, where is he now? He cannot have vanished into space, and we have searched every corner without success."
"Then he must have an accomplice in the house who is hiding him," I returned. "Ifboth exits have been guarded, he cannot have got out."
By this time I was beginning to wish that I had had nothing to do with the matter. The Countess, however, was profuse in her thanks to me, for what she described as "a most considerate and friendly act."
Seeing that I could be of no further use to her, I apologized for my intrusion and bade them good-night.
"Should we by any chance manage to secure the fellow, I will let you know," said Reiffenburg, as we stood together at the front door. "I fear, however,we shall not be so fortunate."
There was a sneer in his voice, for which I could have kicked him. However, I kept my temper, and murmuring something to the effect that I was glad to have been of service, I took my departure, and the door closed behind me.
"That was one of the most extraordinary affairs I have ever known," I said to the detective, as we turned our faces homewards. "I am quite at a loss to account for it."
The detective stopped suddenly and looked at me.
"The lady and gentleman are particularfriends of yours, sir, I understand, and I don't know in that case whether I ought to tell you what is in my mind. But I fancy I could throw a rather unexpected light upon the affair."
"Speak out, then, by all means," I answered. "What was it you noticed?"
"This, sir," he said, and as he spoke he took from his pocket a small piece of black matter about half the size of a pea. He handed it to me and asked if I had seen it before. I informed him that I was quite sure I had not.
"It only bears out, sir, what I was saying as we came down Park Lane, just before we reached Wiltshire House. If it weren't for little things, that they overlook, we shouldn't be able to lay our hands on half the criminals we want. Now mind you, sir, I don't mean to infer by that that your friend Count Reiffenburg is a criminal. Not at all; that would be a very wrong thing to say. He's probably been playing a practical joke, as gentlemen will. The fact, however, remains that he gave himself away with that little lump of black stuff, just as surely as Bill Coakes of the Minories did when he gave his sweetheart the silk handkerchiefthat he picked up in old Mrs Burgiss's bedroom. He didn't think it was of any importance, but she wore it, quarrelled with a girl over it, the police came to hear of it, and Bill was caught. So it was just that slip that brought him to the gallows."
"I do not understand you," I replied, still holding the tiny bit of black stuff in my hand. "What is the connection between this substance and Count Reiffenburg?"
"It's the key to the whole puzzle, sir," he said, and took it from me.
Turning his face away, he put his hand to his mouth, and then wheeling round again, parted his lips and showed me his teeth. The eye-tooth on the right-hand side was missing. He put up his hand once more, and lo! it was restored to its place.
"That's what I mean, sir," he said. "Now I noticed, when the gentleman came downstairs, that one of his eye-teeth were missing. He wanted to make himself look old, I suppose, and when he had taken off the other pieces, had forgotten to remove that one. Then he must have remembered it, for his hand went up to his mouth, and next minute it was on the floor, where I managed to get hold of it."
"Do you mean to infer that the old man we saw enter the house was the Count Reiffenburg?" I asked, aghast.
"That is my belief, sir," said the man; "and I feel certain that if I were allowed to search his bedroom, I should find my suspicions corroborated."
"But what possible reason could he have for masquerading as a pauper outcast, and who let him in?"
"As to his reason, sir, I can hazard no sort of guess," he continued. "But it was the lady herself who let him in."
"How on earth do you know that?"
"By a process of simple reasoning, sir. Did you happen to notice that, when we returned to the hall after our search of the first section of the house, the gentleman carried a book in his hand?"
"Now that you mention the fact Idoremember it," I answered. "But what has the book to do with it?"
"A great deal," he answered. "You may not be aware of the fact, but there's a small sitting-room near that side door—a tiny place where the housekeeper does her accounts. The book, when we first searched the room, was lying upon the table."
"May not the housekeeper have been reading it before she went to bed?"
"The housekeeper is an Englishwoman, sir, and not very well educated. I should call it remarkable if she knew Italian, and little short of marvellous if she read Dante in the original. Now, sir, when Count Reiffenburg entered the lady's boudoir, he brought that book with him and placed it on one of the tables. He wouldn't have done that if it had been the property of the housekeeper, would he? No, sir! Count Reiffenburg was out, and the young lady, who is his cousin, I think I understood you to say, sir, sat up for him in order to be near the door. That's the way I read the riddle."
"And I must confess that you have a certain amount of probability on your side," I answered. "At the same time, if I were you, I should say nothing about the discovery. It can serve no good purpose to bruit it abroad. Do you think the two policemen noticed anything of the kind?"
The detective gave a scornful little laugh. "I don't think you need have much fear on that score, sir," he answered. "I doubt very much whether the man who went roundwith me noticed the book at all. His theory was that the fellow we saw enter was one of the servants who had been out late, and not a burglar at all."
By this time we had reached my own residence, and I bade the man good-night upon the steps. Having let myself in, I went to my study to deposit some papers I had brought with me from the House, then to my bedroom and to bed. The incident at Wiltshire House annoyed me, if only for the reason that I could not understand it. What could the young Count Reiffenburg have been doing—if it were he, as the detective declared—wandering about London in that attire? That in itself was bad enough, but it was made much worse by the knowledge that his beautiful cousin had been conniving at his escapade. One thing was quite certain; if I had entertained a dislike for Reiffenburg before, it was doubled now. At last, tired by my long day and the events that had concluded it, I fell asleep, and did not wake until I opened my eyes to find Williams standing beside my bed, overcome with excitement and horror.
"What is the matter, man?" I cried. "What makes you look like that?"
"There's terrible news, sir," he faltered."There's been a lot lately, but this is the worst of all."
"What is the matter, man?" I cried for the second time. "Don't stand there trembling. Tell me what has happened."
"I scarcely know how to tell you, sir," he answered, his voice almost failing him.
"Then give me the paper and let me look for myself," I said, and took it from him. On the page before me, in large type, was an announcement that made me feel sick and giddy:—
"ASSASSINATION OF THE PRIME MINISTER!"
My horror was greater even than Williams's had been. I read the heavy black lines over and over again, as if unable to grasp their meaning. The Prime Minister dead! My old friend and Chief murdered! Could it be possible?
When I had recovered my composure a little, I took up the paper, and tried to read the account there set forth. There had only been time for the insertion of a short paragraph, but its importance was such that it would ring throughout the world. It ran as follows:—
"It is with a sorrow that cannot be expressed in words, that we record the fact that the RightHonourable, the Earl of Litford, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, and Prime Minister of England, was assassinated soon after midnight. The Prime Minister was last seen alive by his private secretary, in the study at his residence at Grosvenor Square. He had left the House of Lords early, but, with the exception of a slight headache, appeared to be in the best of health and spirits. The presumption is that he was stabbed in the back, but how the wound was inflicted, and by whom, are matters which, at present, cannot be explained."
"It is with a sorrow that cannot be expressed in words, that we record the fact that the RightHonourable, the Earl of Litford, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, and Prime Minister of England, was assassinated soon after midnight. The Prime Minister was last seen alive by his private secretary, in the study at his residence at Grosvenor Square. He had left the House of Lords early, but, with the exception of a slight headache, appeared to be in the best of health and spirits. The presumption is that he was stabbed in the back, but how the wound was inflicted, and by whom, are matters which, at present, cannot be explained."
I could find no words to express my horror and surprise. It was only a few hours since he had congratulated me upon my speech in answer to the accusations of certain members of the Little Englander Party; now England was bereft, by as foul an act as had ever been committed in the annals of crime, of one of her greatest statesmen and of one of her noblest sons.
Craving further particulars, I dressed with all speed, and then drove to his residence in Grosvenor Square. Leaving my cab, I walked towards the well-known house, before which a large number of people had collected. Recognising me, they allowed me to pass, and so I gained the front door of the house I had so often entered as the friend and colleague ofthe dead man. I was shown into the morning-room, where presently I was joined by the secretary, who, as the newspapers had reported, had been the last to see him before the tragedy took place.
"Tell me about it," I said, after we had greeted each other.
From his narrative I gathered that the dead man, on his return from the House, after spending half-an-hour with his wife, went to his study. His secretary followed him there, to ascertain if he could be of any further assistance to him. He found him seated at the table writing, and was informed by him that he required nothing more, and that it would not be very long before he himself retired to rest.
"Was the window in the study open?" I asked.
"No," he answered; "it was closed, and the shutters were barred. That was at half-past eleven. At half-past twelve, wondering why her husband did not come upstairs, Lady Litford went in search of him. Her horror may be pictured when she discovered him, seated in his chair, quite dead. He had been stabbed to the heart from behind."
"And were there no traces of any one having entered the room?"
"Not one. The police have taken possession of it, but so far they have been unable to discover any trace of the assassin's entry or the means by which he effected his departure."
"And Lady Litford? How does she bear up under the blow?"
"So bravely, that it makes one's heart ache to see her."
Then, at my request, he conducted me upstairs, and I was permitted to gaze upon the face of the dead man. It was as peaceful as in life's serenest moments, calm and dignified—the face of a man who has done his duty to his Sovereign and his country, and whose life has been given in her service. Then, with a sorrow in my heart greater than I had known for many years, I looked my last upon the face of the dead, and I left the room.
When I had sent a message of deepest sympathy to the widow, I bade the secretary good-bye, and left the house. So awe-struck was the crowd by the magnitude of the tragedy, that scarcely a sound came from it, though, as if in proof of sympathy, here and there a hand was stretched out to me.
"He was a good man and a proper gentleman," said a burly costermonger. "It's a pity we hadn't more like him."