CHAPTER X.
I TURN BURGLAR.
AsI had now decided to devote myself to finding the man known as the Dumpling, and to the clearing up of the mystery of my friend's death and of the opium den, the first question to be asked (it was the question I put to myself as I walked away from the inn) was, "Did the Dumpling really believe me to be Grant?" If that were so, it was possible that Grant had to the last successfully maintained his disguise, and had met his death accidentally while shadowing the fugitives, who had probably made their escape by way of the water. Or it was possible that, without suspecting the supposed Chinaman to be Grant, something may have happened after my departure to arouse the Dumpling's suspicions in regard to Grant's good faith, in which case short work would no doubt be made of the intruder.
What was more likely, for instance, than that, hearing the uproar downstairs, after I had locked myself in the kitchen, andfearing that I was being murdered, Grant had rushed down to my assistance, and so betrayed himself? In which case, the Dumpling would have made no bones about knocking him on the head, or otherwise despatching him and throwing the body into the river. But, apart from the question whether my friend had met his death by accident or by intention, the facts seemed to justify me in assuming that the Dumpling had really believed me to be Grant, the detective. The reader will remember that, after I had locked myself in the kitchen, the Dumpling had called out, "Don't say you haven't killed your man! He mustn't leave the place alive. It's Robert Grant, the detective. I had word that he'd tracked us, and meant trying to get in here to-night."
All this seemed strongly to point to the fact that the Dumplingdidindeed believe me to be the hated detective. How he had got wind of Grant's intention to effect an entrance to the den, or how Grant had contrived successfully to effect that entrance, and to disarm suspicion, I did not know; but, supposing that news of the threatened danger had only reached the ears of the Dumpling a few moments before my arrival,and before he had time to turn his suspicions in other directions—the fact that the news was followed by the entrance of a suspicious stranger, who could give no better explanation for his presence than a lame and apparently trumped-up story about a commission to write a magazine article on opium dens, would certainly lend colour to the assumption that I was the expected man. The determined and desperate efforts which had subsequently been made to murder me, all seemed to point the same way; and I decided to start my investigation by assuming that the Dumpling and his accomplices had believed, and still believed, me to be none other than Robert Grant, the detective.
If that were so, my escape would cause something like a panic among them, and would lead to their taking immediate steps to discover my whereabouts, and to put me out of the way. The first of these immediate steps would be to set a watch upon Grant's house; and to discover whether this was being done, must be my very first business. The fact that Grant's house was being watched—unless, of course, I could satisfy myself that the watching was beingdone by the police—would not only go far to prove the accuracy of my theory, but would also be the means of putting me upon the track of the Dumpling or of his accomplices.
Naturally, I had to go to work very carefully. Were I, even if skilfully disguised, to do so much as walk twice, or even once, up the street in which Grant's house was situated, I should be in danger of attracting attention. Shadowing the house by concealing myself in dark doorways and lurking around corners, was quite out of the question, and the common plan of posing as a lodger, and hiring a room or rooms in an opposite or neighbouring house, would be equally impracticable.
Even if I commissioned a friend to make the necessary inquiries, I should have to take possession of my lodgings—if suitable lodgings with a view of the street were found, which was by no means certain—more or less openly; and having once taken possession, I could not get in and out without attracting attention.
Everyone who knows the West End of London is familiar with the somewhat shabby side streets which borrow gentility andgrandeur from the fact that they are situated near, or off, a fashionable square, from which they take their name. Grant lived in Taunton Place, a modest little street consisting of two rows of small houses which abutted upon the many mansions of aristocratic Taunton Square. Driving through Taunton Place, sitting well back and out of sight in the recesses of a four-wheel cab, I observed an empty house on the opposite side of the way to Grant's, and almost at the corner where Taunton Place and Taunton Square converged. Waiting till night had set in, I burgled this empty house from the back, and began my watch.
The result was in every way satisfactory. Grant's house was undoubtedly being watched, and by a man who, it was not difficult to see, was doing double duty. He was keeping a constant eye not only upon No. 10, Taunton Place, where Grant resided, but also upon a big, pretentious, bow-windowed and pillar-porticoed mansion known as No. 5, Taunton Square.
Again and again I saw him pass the windows of the big house and look in; again and again I saw him watching, from his corner, everyone who called either atNo. 10, Taunton Place, or at No. 5, Taunton Square.
After a time a well-dressed man walked up to No. 5, Taunton Square, knocked, and, when the door was opened, entered. He remained there for twenty minutes, and when he came out was promptly followed by the shadower. The coast being thus clear, I left my own post, and on making inquiries at a tavern where I called for a glass of beer, was told that No. 5, Taunton Square had recently been taken by a gentleman from America, named Carleton, a widower and reputed millionaire, who lived there with his daughter, Kate, and his unmarried sister. Here again was an interesting discovery which promised developments. The hapless Parker had told me of seven millionaires who once a month repaired to a tavern in Shadwell, where they dined upon humble fare, drank "four half" out of pint pots, and smoked shag tobacco in clay pipes. It did not seem to be an improbable story, and, personally, I had a secret and sneaking sympathy—due possibly to my own low tastes—with anything which promised so complete and sensible a return to nature. I have myself partaken—not lavishly, perhaps,but with gusto—of malt liquors, served in pewter pots in country taverns, have smacked my lips (another evidence of a debased nature), and have sat back in my chair, sighing with replete contentment, and possibly with an inner man by no means indifferently fortified by that excellent complement to good beer—bread and cheese. At such times I have called life good, and have found myself in peace and charity with all my neighbours.
Did all self-made millionaires renew their youth, and remind themselves of their struggling days, by becoming members of the club of which Parker had spoken, they would afterwards, I am persuaded, return to the scene of their splendour in a humble and chastened frame of mind, which might possibly prompt them to do something more permanent, and more sensible, for their less fortunate fellow creatures than the founding of free libraries. I may add that I do not claim any copyright in the idea, and that should Mr. Andrew Carnegie be as assiduous a reader of my instructive writings as it is to be hoped a gentleman so interested in the free circulation of sound literature should be, he need fear no action forinfringement of copyright, should he be disposed to devote the remainder of his—I fear—fast vanishing millions to such a purpose.
But to return to my story.
According to Parker's statement, the Dumpling, whose studies of natural history had possibly led him to the conclusion that every creature which comes into the world is so constituted that other and smaller creatures should prey upon it, had so far fallen in with the existing scheme of things as to decide to play the part of a plutocratic parasite. His plan was forcibly to kidnap a millionaire when on his way to or from the Shadwell banquet, and to hold him to ransom for an immense sum, which was to go into the pockets of the Dumpling and his accomplices. The fact, then, that a shadower—presumably acting on behalf of Dumpling and Company—was carefully watching the house of a millionaire, seemed not only to confirm the truth of Parker's story, but to point to the very man whom the Dumpling intended to kidnap and to bleed.
To trap a fox, it is of service to know upon which particular chicken-house he is concentrating his attention.
While Brer Fox Dumpling was engagedin stalking and carrying off Brer Rooster Millionaire, Brer Rabbit Rissler might, by keeping an eye upon Brer Rooster, succeed in learning the whereabouts of, and ultimately in stalking and trapping, Brer Fox himself. For the moment the Dumpling's shadower was off duty, as regards the watch he was keeping upon No. 10, Taunton Place and No. 5, Taunton Square; being engaged, as I had reason to know, in following up the caller at Mr. Carleton's house.
Having satisfied myself that no understudy had come to take the shadower's place or to relieve guard, I jumped into the first four-wheeler that passed.
"Drive to No. 5, Taunton Square," I said to the cabby, "and when we are there, get down and knock at the door. Meanwhile, I'll wait in the cab till the door's opened, so that I can slip in at once. If anybody asks you who I am and where you took me up, say at the Hotel Cecil, and that you think I'm on a company-promoting job, as you have driven me already to the houses of half a dozen company-director millionaires. Here's half-a-crown—no, I'll make it two half-crowns, if you do as I tell you, and hold your tongue."
With a nod and a grin he opened the cab-door and I got in. In less than two minutes we were at No. 5, Taunton Square, and the instant the door of the house was opened, in reply to the driver's knock, I was out of the cab and had slipped inside and shut the door behind me, before the astonished flunkey could as much as ask my name.
"Is Mr. Carleton in?" I snapped. "I've got some very important news for him, and must see him without a moment's delay."
I spoke authoritatively, even sharply, and in no way as a stranger who is unassured of his welcome.
"No, sir," the fellow answered respectfully. "He isn't in just now."
"When will he be?" I demanded.
"Well, sir, that's just what I can't say. If you'll take a seat in the library, I'll ask Miss Kate if she has any news. She'll be——"
"Yes," I said peremptorily, "that'll do. Take me to her at once. Don't delay in sending up word. There's not an instant to lose. Take me to her straight."
Somewhat doubtfully, but scarcely liking to disobey one who spoke with so confident an air, the man led the way to a door atthe end of the hall, and was just about to knock when it opened, and I saw standing before me none other than my Lady of the Lake.
"Forgive this intrusion," I said, "but I bring you news of your father."
"I am relieved to hear it," she answered cordially, but quite coolly. "It is very strange that he should neither have returned last night nor sent a message. You are sure that he is safe and well?"
For the moment I was so taken aback that I faltered. Was I, then, too late? Had the Dumpling already carried out his villainous purpose? Then, pulling myself together, I answered, cheerfully:
"Yes, he is safe and well—make yourself quite easy about that; and I know with whom he is staying. I will tell you all about it, if you will allow me."
"Please come in," she said.