"The wonder is," said Constable Nightingale, while Mrs. Middlemore shook the snow out of her clothes, "how you had the courage to venture out in such weather."
"It's 'abit, Mr. Nightingale, that's what it is. Once I get to doing a thing regular, done it must be if I want to keep my peace of mind. There wouldn't be a wink of sleep for me if I didn't go and fetch my supper beer myself every night. I don't keep a gal, Mr. Winks----"
"Wigg," said that gentleman in correction, with a dreamy look at the beer-jug.
"I beg you a thousand pardons, Mr. Wigg, I'm sure. I don't keep a gal, and that's why my place is always nice and clean, as you see it now. If you want your work done, do it yourself--that's my motter. Not that I can't afford to keep a gal, but Mr. Felix he ses when he come to me about the rooms when I didn't 'ave a blessed lodger in the 'ouse, 'I'll take 'em,' he ses, 'conditionally. You mustn't let a room in the place to anybody but me.' 'But I make my living out of the rooms, sir,' ses I, 'and I can't afford to let 'em remain empty.' 'Youcanafford,' ses Mr. Felix, 'if I pay for 'em remaining empty. What rent do you arks for the whole 'ouse with the exception of the basement?' I opened my mouth wide, I don't mind telling you that, Mr. Wigg, when I put a price upon the 'ouse. All he ses is, 'Agreed.' 'Then there's attendance, sir,' I ses. 'How much for that?' he arks. I opens my mouth wide agin, and all he ses is, 'Agreed.' You see, Mr. Wigg, seeing as' ow you're a friend of Mr. Nightingale's, and as no friend of his'n can be anything but a gentleman, there's no 'arm in my telling you a thing or two about Mr. Felix, more especially as you're on night duty 'ere."
"Here's to our better acquaintance," said Constable Wigg, laying hands on the beer-jug in an absent kind of way, and raising it to his mouth. When, after a long interval, he put it down again with a sigh of intense satisfaction, he met the reproachful gaze of Constable Nightingale, who gasped:
"Well, of all the cheek! Without ever being asked!"
"Love your heart," said Mrs. Middlemore, "what does that matter? He's as welcome as the flowers in May, being a friend of your'n." She handed the jug to Constable Nightingale, asking, as she did so, "Did you ever 'ave a inspiration, Mr. Nightingale?"
Constable Nightingale did not immediately reply, his face being buried in the jug. When it was free, and he had wiped his mouth, he said, in a mild tone--any harsh judgment he may have harbored against Constable Wigg being softened by the refreshing draught--
"I must have had one to-night when I come this way, out of my beat, to have a talk with Wigg, and to see that you was all right. The taters in the oven'll be burnt to a cinder if they're not took out immediate."
"You've got a nose for baked taters, you 'ave," said Mrs. Middlemore, admiringly. "Trust you for finding out things without eyes! But you always can smell what I've got in the oven."
Constable Wigg rubbed his hands joyously when he saw Mrs. Middlemore lay three plates and draw three chairs up to the table. Then she whipped the baked potatoes out of the oven, saying,
"Done to a turn. Now we can talk and 'ave supper at the same time. Make yourself at 'ome, Mr. Wigg, and 'elp yourself to what you like. I'll 'ave a bit of fowl, Mr. Nightingale, and jest a thin slice of the cold pork, if you please Mr. Wigg. It's a favorite dish of yours, I can see. Mr. Nightingale,youwon't make compliments, I'm sure. You're the last man as ought to in this 'ouse." Constable Nightingale pressed her foot under the table, and she smiled at him, and continued, "I was going to tell you about my inspiration when I got the supper beer. A pint and a half won't be enough,' ses I to myself; a pint and a half's my regular allowance, Mr. Wigg, and I don't find it too much, because I don't drink sperrits. 'A pint and a half won't be enough,' ses I to myself; 'I shouldn't be surprised if a friend dropped in, so I'll double it.' And I did."
"That's something like an inspiration," said Constable Nightingale, looking amorously at Mrs. Middlemore, who smiled amorously at him in return.
Constable Wigg cut these amorous inclinings short by remarking, "We was talking of Mr. Felix. Nightingale commenced twice to-night telling a story about him, and it's not told yet."
"Not my fault, Wigg," Constable Nightingale managed to say, with his mouth full.
"I'll tell my story first," said Mrs. Middlemore, "and he can tell his afterward. Try them sausages, Mr. Wigg. Mr. Felix always 'as the best of everythink. I buy 'em at Wall's. So when he ses 'Agreed' to the rent and attendance, he ses, 'And about servants?' 'I can't afford to keep more than one, sir,' I ses. 'You can, ses he; 'you can afford to keep none. You'll find me the best tenant you ever 'ad, and what you've got to do is to foller my instructions. 'I'll do my best, sir,' ses I. 'It'll pay you,' ses he, 'to let me do exactly as I please, and never to cross me.' And I'm bound to say, Mr. Wigg, that it 'as paid me never to cross 'im and never to arks questions. 'We shall git along capitally together,' ses he, 'without servants. They're a prying, idle lot, and I won't 'ave 'em creeping up the stairs on welwet toes to find out what I'm doing. So keep none, Mrs. Middlemore,' he ses, 'not the ghost of one. You can wait on me without assistance. If I want to entertain a visitor or two I'll 'ave the meals brought in ready cooked, and if we want hextra attendance I'll git Gunter to send in a man as knows 'is business and can 'old 'is tongue.' Of course I was agreeable to that, and he pays me down a month in advance, like the gentleman he is. Though I don't drink sperrits, Mr. Nightingale, that's no reason why you should deny yourself. You know where the bottle is, and per'aps Mr. Wigg will jine you."
"Mrs. Middlemore," said Constable Wigg, "you're a lady after my own heart, and I'm glad I'm alive. Here's looking toward you."
"Thank you, Mr. Wigg," said Mrs. Middlemore, "and what I say is it's a shame that men like you and Mr. Nightingale should be trapesing the streets with the snow coming down and the wind a-blowing as it is now. Jest listen to it; it's going on worse than ever. Might I take the liberty of inquiring--you being on the beat, Mr. Wigg--whether you sor a lady come out of the house while I was gone for the supper beer?"
"No lady came out of the house," replied Constable Wigg. "A man did."
"A man!" cried Mrs. Middlemore. "Not Mr. Felix, surely!"
"No, not him," said Constable Nightingale. "A strange-looking man with a red handkercher round his neck."
"A strange-looking man, with a red 'andkercher round 'is neck?" exclaimed Mrs. Middlemore. "'Ow did he git in?"
"That's not for us to say," said Constable Nightingale. "Perhaps Mr. Felix let him in when you was away."
"Yes, most likely," said Mrs. Middlemore, with an air of confusion which she strove vainly to conceal from the observation of her visitors; "of course, that must be. Mr. Felix often lets people in 'isself. 'Mrs. Middlemore,' he ses sometimes, 'if there's a ring or a knock at the door, I'll attend to it. You needn't trouble yourself.' And I don't--knowing 'im, and knowing it'll pay me better to foller 'is instructions. For there's never a time that sech a thing 'appens that Mr. Felix doesn't say to me afterward, 'Here's a half-sovering for you, Mrs. Middlemore.'"
"You're in for one to-morrow morning, then," observed Constable Wigg, "because it was a man we saw and not a woman."
"He won't forgit it," said Mrs. Middlemore, "not 'im. He's too free and generous with 'is money, so long as he's let alone, and not pry'd upon. What he does is no business of mine, and I'm not going to make it mine."
"Ah," Mrs. Middlemore, said Constable Wigg, emptying his second glass of whiskey, "you know which side your bread is buttered."
"I wasn't born yesterday," said Mrs. Middlemore, with a shrewd smile, "and I've seed things that I keep to myself. Why not? You'd do the same if you was in my shoes, wouldn't you?"
"That we would," replied both the policeman in one breath; and Constable Wigg added, "You're a lucky woman to have such a lodger."
"Well," said Mrs. Middlemore, "I don't deny it. I never met with such a man as Mr. Felix, and I don't believe there is another. Why, when he took possession, he ses, 'Clear out every bit of furniture there is in the rooms. Send it to auction if you like and sell it, and pocket the money. When I leave you shall either 'ave all my furniture, or I'll furnish the rooms over agin according to your fancy, and it shan't cost you a penny.' I was agreeable. Because why? Because he give me forty pound on account, to show that he was in earnest. Then he begins to furnish, and if you was to see 'is rooms, Mr. Wigg, you'd be that took aback that you wouldn't know what to say. All sorts of wonderful woods, satings, picters, swords and daggers, strange rugs and carpets, painted plates and dishes, 'angings, old lamps, and goodness only knows what I don't understand 'arf of 'em. There! I've talked enough about Mr. Felix for once. Let's talk of something else."
"Do you keep cats, Mrs. Middlemore?" asked Constable Nightingale, brewing another grog for himself and Constable Wigg.
"I don't," replied Mrs. Middlemore. "Mr. Felix won't 'ave one in the 'ouse."
"There's one in the house now, though," said Constable Nightingale. "It come in when the wind burst open the street door, and Wigg and me fell into the passage. He says it's not a cat, but a spectre, a ghost."
"Lord save us!" ejaculated Mrs. Middlemore. "If Mr. Felix sees it he'll never forgive me. He 'as a 'atred of 'em. And the ghost of a cat, too!" She was so impressed that she edged closer to Constable Nightingale.
"It was a spectre cat," said Constable Wigg, desirous to do something to divert Mrs. Middlemore's thoughts from Mr. Felix, and also from her leaning toward his comrade. "And then there was that cry for 'Help' I fancied I heard."
"What cry for help?" asked Mrs. Middlemore.
"I thought I heard it three times," said Constable Wigg--but he was prevented from going further by an incident which was followed by a startling picture. Constable Nightingale, rather thrown off his balance by the drink he had imbibed, and desirous to meet the advances of Mrs. Middlemore, slyly put his arm round her waist, and to hide the movement from the observation of his brother constable, made a clumsy movement over the table, and overturned the candle, the effect of which was to put out the light and to leave them in darkness. He was not sorry for it, for the reason that he was hugging Mrs. Middlemore close. But Constable Wigg started up in fear, and cried:
"Somebody has pushed open the door!"
In point of fact the kitchen-door had been quietly pushed open, and the other two observed it when their attention was directed toward it.
"What is it?" whispered Mrs. Middlemore, shaking like a jelly, "Oh, what is it?"
Constable Nightingale, for the second time that night pulled out his dark lantern, and cast its light upon the door. And there, imbedded in the circle of light, was the cat which had already twice before alarmed Constable Wigg. They uttered a cry of horror, and indeed they were justified by the picture which presented itself. The cat wasred. Every bristle, sticking up on its skin, was luminous with horrible color. It was a perfect ball of blood.
In a fit of terror the constable dropped the lantern, and the cat, unseen by the occupants of the kitchen, scuttled away.
"If you don't light the candle," gasped Mrs. Middlemore, "I shall go off." And she forthwith proceeded to demonstrate by screaming, "Oh, oh, oh!"
"She's done it, Wigg," said Constable Nightingale. "Strike a light, there's a good fellow, and pick up the lantern. I can't do it myself; I've got my arms full."
Constable Wigg had now recovered his courage, and inspired by jealousy, quickly struck a match and lit the candle. Mrs. Middlemore lay comfortably in the arms of Constable Nightingale, who did not seem anxious to rid himself of his burden. Stirred to emulative sympathy, Constable Wigg took possession of one of Mrs. Middlemore's hands, and pressed and patted it with a soothing, "There, there, there! What has made you come over like this? There's nothing to be frightened of, is there, Nightingale?"
"Nothing at all," replied Constable Nightingale, irascibly, for he by no means relished his comrade's insidious attempt to slide into Mrs. Middlemore's affections. "You're better now, ain't you?"
"A little," murmured Mrs. Middlemore, "a very little."
"Take a sip of this," said Constable Wigg, holding a glass to her lips, "it'll bring you round."
Ignoring her previous declaration that she did not "drink sperrits," Mrs. Middlemore sipped the glass of whiskey, and continued to sip, with intermittent shudders, till she had drained the last drop. Then she summoned sufficient strength to raise herself languidly from Constable Nightingale's arms, and look toward the door.
"Where's it gone to?" she asked, in a trembling voice. "What's become of the 'orrid creature?"
"What horrid creature, my dear?" inquired Constable Nightingale, winking at his comrade.
"The cat! The red cat!"
"A red cat!" exclaimed Constable Nightingale, in a jocular voice; "who ever heard of such a thing? Who ever saw such a thing?"
"Why, I did--and you did, too."
"Not me," said Constable Nightingale, with another wink at Constable Wigg.
"Nor me," said that officer, following the lead.
"Do you mean to tell me you didn't see a cat, and that the cat you sor wasn't red?"
"I saw a cat, yes," said Constable Nightingale, "but not a red 'un--no, not a red un'. What do you say, Wigg?"
"I say as you says, Nightingale."
"There's lobsters, now," said Constable Nightingale; "we know what color they are when they're boiled, but we don't boil cats, that I know of, and if we did they wouldn't turn red. You learned natural history when you was at school, Wigg. What did they say about red cats?"
"It's against nature," said Constable Wigg, adding, with an unconscious imitation of Macbeth, "there's no such thing."
"I must take your word for it," said Mrs. Middlemore, only half convinced, "but if ever my eyes deceived me they deceived me jest now. If you two gentlemen wasn't here, I'd be ready to take my oath the cat was red. And now I come to think of it, what made the pair of you cry out as you did?"
"What made us cry out?" repeated Constable Nightingale, who, in this discussion, proved himself much superior to his brother officer in the matter of invention. "It was natural, that's what it was, natural. I'm free to confess I was a bit startled. First, there's the night--listen to it; it's going on worse than ever--ain't that enough to startle one? I've been out in bad nights, but I never remember such a one-er as this. Did you, Wigg?"
"Never. If it goes on much longer, it'll beat that American blizzard they talked so much of."
"That's enough to startle a chap," continued Constable Nightingale, "letting alone anything else. But then, there was that talk about a spectre cat. I ain't frightened of much that I know of. Put a man before me, or a dog, or a horse, and I'm ready to tackle 'em, one down and the other come up, or altogether if they like; but when you come to spectres, I ain't ashamed to say I'm not up to 'em. Its constitootional, Mrs. Middlemore; I was that way when I was little. There was a cupboard at home, and my mother used to say, 'Don't you ever open it, Jimmy; there's a ghost hiding behind the door.' I wouldn't have put my hand on the knob for untold gold. It's the same now. Anything that's alive I don't give way to; but when it comes to ghosts and spectres I take a back seat, and I don't care who knows it. Then there was that cry for 'Help,' that Wigg was speaking of. Then there was the candle going out"--he gave Mrs. Middlemore a nudge as he referred to this incident--"and the sudden opening of the door there. It was all them things together that made me cry out; and if brother Wigg's got any other explanation to give I shall be glad to hear it."
"No, Nightingale," said the prudent and unimaginative Wigg, "I couldn't improve on you. You've spoke like a man, and I hope our good-looking, good-natured landlady is satisfied."
This complimentary allusion served to dispel Mrs. Middlemore's fears, and in a more contented frame of mind she resumed her seat at the table, the constables following her example.
"May the present moment," said Constable Nightingale, lifting his glass and looking affectionately at Mrs. Middlemore, "be the worst of our lives; and here's my regards to you."
"And mine, my good creature," said Constable Wigg.
"Gents both," said Mrs. Middlemore, now thoroughly restored, "I looks toward yer."
Whereupon they all drank, and settled themselves comfortably in their chairs.
"What was in that cupboard," asked Mrs. Middlemore, "that your mother told you there was a ghost in?"
"What was in it? Now, that shows how a body may be frightened at nothing. I didn't find it out till I was a man, and it was as much a ghost as I am. But there's a lady present, and I'd better not go on."
"Yes, you must," said Mrs. Middlemore, positively. "You've made me that curious that I'll never speak another word to you if you don't tell me."
"Rather than that should happen, I must let you into the secret, I suppose. But you won't mind me mentioning it?"
"Not a bit, Mr. Nightingale. Speak free."
"Well, if you must know, it was where she kept a spare bustle, and a bit or two of hair, and some other little vanities that she didn't want us young 'uns to pull about. There, the murder's out, and I wouldn't have mentioned the things if you hadn't been so curious; but it's a privilege of your sex, Mrs. Middlemore, one of your amiable weaknesses that we're bound to respect."
Mrs. Middlemore laughed, and asked Constable Wigg what he was thinking of. That worthy had, indeed, put on his considering cap, as the saying is; he felt that Constable Nightingale was making the running too fast, and that he should be left hopelessly in the rear unless he made an attempt to assert himself, and to show that he knew a thing or two.
"I was thinking of the red cat," he said.
"Wigg," said Constable Nightingale, in a tone of reproof, "I'm astonished at you. When everything's been made smooth!"
"For the moment, Nightingale, for the moment," said Constable Wigg, complacently. "But there's by and by to reckon with. It ain't to be expected that Mrs. Middlemore can have us always with her, though I'm sure I should ask for nothing better. What could a man want better than this? Outside snow and blow, inside wine and shine."
"You're quite a poet, Mr. Wigg," said Mrs. Middlemore, admiringly.
"I don't see it," grumbled Constable Nightingale; "where's the wine?"
"If this," said Constable Wigg, raising his glass and looking at its contents with the eye of a connoisseur, "ain't as good as the best of wine, I stand corrected. Did you never hear of a poet's license, Nightingale?" He asked this question banteringly.
"No, I didn't, and I don't believe you know where to get one, and what the Government charges for it."
"I'm afraid, Nightingale," said Constable Wigg, beginning to feel the effects of the drink, "that you've no soul for poetry."
"Never you mind whether I have or haven't," retorted Constable Nightingale.
"Gents both," interposed Mrs. Middlemore, "whatever you do, don't fall out. You're as welcome as welcome can be, but don't fall out."
"I bear no malice," said Constable Nightingale, who was really a simple-minded, good-hearted fellow; "shake hands, Wigg, and let bygones be bygones. All I want you to do is to let the red cat alone, or to stick to the point, and have done with it once and for all."
"Very good, Nightingale," said Constable Wigg, assuming the lofty air of a man who had established his claim to pre-eminence. "I'll stick to the point, and if I don't make Mrs. Middlemore's mind easy, I'll give up. Not easy as long as we're here, but easy when we're gone, as gone we must be some time or other, because it don't stand to reason that this storm's going to last forever. I'm only thinking of you, I give you my word, ma'am."
"You're very kind, I'm sure," murmured Mrs. Middlemore, inclining, with the proverbial fickleness of her sex, now to Constable, Nightingale and now to Constable Wigg.
"It's the least I can do," proceeded Constable Wigg, addressing himself solely to his hostess, "after the way I've been treated here. Not for the last time, I hope."
"Not by a many," said Mrs. Middlemore, smirking at the flatterer, "if it remains with me."
"You're monarch of all you survey, ma'am," observed the wily Wigg, smirking back at her, "and remain with you it must, as long as you remain single."
"Oh, Mr. Wigg!"
"It's nobody's fault but your own if you do; there's not many as can pick and choose, but you're one as can. Perhaps you're hard to please, ma'am----"
"I ain't," said Mrs. Middlemore, so energetically that Constable Nightingale began to think it time to interfere.
"You're forgetting the red cat, Wigg," he said.
"Not at all," said Constable Wigg, blandly; "I'm coming to it, but I don't forget that Mrs. Middlemore has nerves. It amounts to this, ma'am. I've read a bit in my time, and I'm going to give you--andNightingale, if he ain't too proud--the benefit of it. Youdidsee a red cat, ma'am."
"Did I?" said Mrs. Middlemore, looking around with a shiver.
"You did, ma'am, and yet the cat wasn't red. I thought it was red, and so did Nightingale, if he'll speak the truth. I'll wait for him to say."
"I won't keep you waiting long," said Constable Nightingale, in a surly tone. "As you and Mrs. Middlemore seem to be of one mind, I'll make a clean breast of it. I thought it was red, and when I made light of it I did it for her sake."
He said this so tenderly that Mrs. Middlemore rewarded him with a look of gratitude; but she kept her eyes averted from the kitchen door.
"Now we can get on like a house on fire," said Constable Wigg. "When you winked at me, Nightingale, I didn't contradict you, but I fell a-thinking, and then what I read come to my mind. You've been out in the snow, Mrs. Middlemore, and you saw nothing but white. We've been out in the snow, ma'am, and we saw nothing but white. Not for a minute, not for five, not for ten but for hours I may say. I remember reading somewhere that when you've looked for a longish time upon nothing but white, that it's as likely as not the next thing you see will be red, never mind what the color really is. That's the way with us. The cat's been haunting me, in a manner of speaking, the whole livelong night, and what with that and the snow, and being all of a sudden shoved into darkness, the minute a light shines on the wretched thing it comes to me as red as a ball of fire; and it comes to you the same, because the snow's got into your eyes and affected your sight."
"Bosh!" exclaimed Constable Nightingale.
"What's that you say, Nightingale?" asked Constable Wigg.
"Bosh! I didn't want to frighten Mrs. Middlemore, and that's the reason I wouldn't harp on it, but now you've raked it up again I'll have the matter settled."
So saying, Constable Nightingale rose from his chair.
"Where are you going?" cried Mrs. Middlemore. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to find that cat," replied Constable Nightingale, "if it's in the house. If it isn't red, I give in and apologize. If it is, I shall take the liberty of saying for the third time, Bosh!"
He walked toward the door, but started back before he reached it, and pointing to the floor, asked,
"What do you call that, Wigg? Is that a deloosion!"
Constable Wigg advanced, looked down, rubbed his eyes, looked down again, and answered,
"I'm bound to say there's no mistaking the color. Have you got any red ochre in the house, ma'am?"
"Not a bit," gasped Mrs. Middlemore, "as I knows on."
"These," said Constable Nightingale, kneeling, and examining the floor, "are marks of the cat's paws, and they're red. Look for yourself, Wigg."
"There's no denying it," said the baffled Wigg.
"You're on duty here, Wigg."
"What do you advise, Nightingale? You've been longer in the force than me."
"It's got to be looked into by somebody. It ain't for me to do it, because I'm out of my beat, and I don't want to be made an example of. Would you oblige me by going to the door and giving the alarm?"
"What for?"
"For me, being at a distance, to hear it. For me hearing it, to run to your assistance. Do you twig? My being on your beat must be accounted for. That will account for it."
This ingenious suggestion relieved Constable Wigg's mind as well as his comrade's.
"That's a good idea," he said; "and it'll account, too, for our being in the house, supposing anything should be said about it."
"Exactly. Being here with Mrs. Middlemore's permission. You've got a lot to learn, Wigg, and one of the lessons I'd advise you to take to heart"--here he looked significantly at Mrs. Middlemore--"is not to poach on a pal's preserves."
Constable Wigg may have felt the reproach, but he took no notice of it. "You may as well come to the door with me, Nightingale."
"I've no objections."
"I'll come too," said Mrs. Middlemore, nervously. "I wouldn't be left alone here for anythink you could orfer me."
The three walked upstairs to the passage, Mrs. Middlemore needing the support of Constable Nightingale's arm round her waist; but the moment the fastenings of the street-door were unloosed, it flew open as though a battering ram had been applied to it, and the wind and snow swept in upon them with undiminished fury.
"Hanged if it ain't getting worse and worse!" muttered Constable Nightingale, helping the others to shut the door, which was accomplished with great difficulty.
"Don't make a noise in the passage," whispered Mrs. Middlemore to Constable Wigg. "Mr. Felix 'll 'ear it, and he'd never forgive me."
"We'll take it for granted, then, that the alarm is given," said Constable Nightingale, "and we'll go downstairs, and consider what ought to be done."
Arrived once more in that comfortable apartment, they shook off the snow dust which had blown in upon them from the street. Then Constable Nightingale assumed a judicial attitude.
"In case of anything being wrong," he said, "we must all be agreed upon what has took place before it's discovered."
"Before what's discovered?" cried Mrs. Middlemore.
"That we've got to find out."
"It's ten to one there's nothing to find out," said Constable Wigg.
"It's ten to one there is," retorted Constable Nightingale. "I go a bit deeper than you, Wigg; but whether there is or there ain't, it's always well to be prepared with a story. I've got something in my mind that you don't seem to have in yours; what it is you shall hear presently. Mrs. Middlemore, going out for her supper-beer at her usual hour, about half-past eleven shuts the street-door behind her, and does not return till past twelve. Is that correct, ma'am?"
"Quite correct, Mr. Nightingale; but what are you driving at?"
"All in good time, my dear. You leave the house safe, and you are sure you shut the street-door tight?"
"I'll take my oath of it."
"It may come to that; I don't want to scare you, but it may come to that. When you come back with the supper-beer you find the street-door open?"
"But I don't."
"Excuse me, you do; it's necessary."
"Oh!"
"And I'll tell you why. When you come home you find Wigg and me here, don't you?"
"Yes."
"You've heard how we got in, but it's a fact that we had no business here unless we was called in. We must have been called in by somebody, and whoever it was must have had a reason for inviting us. Is that sound, Wigg?"
"As sound as a rock, Nightingale."
"Mr. Felix didn't call us in, and there's no one else in the house while you've gone for your supper-beer?" Mrs. Middlemore coughed, which caused Constable Nightingale to ask, "What's that for?"
"It ain't for me to say," replied Mrs. Middlemore. "What you want to git at is that there's only two people living regularly in the 'ouse, Mr. Felix and me. If Mr. Felix makes it worth my while to keep my own counsel, I'm going to keep it, and I don't care what happens."
"I wouldn't persuade you otherwise. Gentlemen that's so liberal with their money as him ain't to be met with every day. Very well, then. There's only you and Mr. Felix living in the house, and he don't call us in. It's you that does that. Why? You shut the street-door tight when you went out; you find it open when you come back, and at the same time you see a man with a red handkercher round his neck run out of the house. Of course you're alarmed; Wigg happens to be near, and you call him; he, thinking he may want assistance, calls me; and that's how it is we're both here at the present moment. That's pretty straight, isn't it?"
Both his hearers agreed that it was, and he proceeded:
"But we mustn't forget that we've been here some time already. I make it, by my silver watch that I won in a raffle, twenty minutes to two. Your kitchen clock, Mrs. Middlemore, is a little slow."
"Do what I will," said Mrs. Middlemore, "I can't make it go right."
"Some clocks," observed Constable Nightingale, with a touch of humor--he was on the best of terms with himself, having, in a certain sense, snuffed out Constable Wigg--"are like some men and women; they're either too slow or too fast, and try your hardest you can't alter 'em. We must be able to account for a little time between past twelve o'clock and now; there's no need to be too particular; such a night as this is 'll excuse a lot. I'll take the liberty of stopping your clock and putting the hands back to twelve, so that you won't be fixed to a half-hour or so. The clock stopped while you was getting your supper-beer, of course. Likewise I stop my watch, and put the hands back to about the same time. Now, what do I do when Wigg calls me here? I hear what you, ma'am, have to say about the street-door being open and a man running out and almost upsetting you, and I make tracks after him. I don't catch him, and then I come back here, and that brings us up to this very minute. Plain sailing, so far. You'll bear it in mind, you and Wigg, won't you?"
"I've got it," said Wigg, "at my fingers' ends."
"So 'ave I," said Mrs. Middlemore.
"But what are you going to do now?" asked Constable Wigg.
"To find the cat," replied Constable Nightingale.
"Going to take it up?" This, with a fine touch of sarcasm.
"No, Wigg," said Constable Nightingale, speaking very seriously. "I want to make sure where it got that red color from, because, not to put too fine a point on it, it's blood."
Mrs. Middlemore uttered a stifled scream, and clapped her hands on her hips.
"That," continued Constable Nightingale, in a tone of severity to his brother constable, "is what I had in my mind and you didn't have in yours. Why, if you look with only half an eye at them stains on the floor, you can't mistake 'em."
"Oh, dear, oh, dear," moaned Mrs. Middlemore, "we shall all be murdered in our beds?"
"Nothing of the sort, my dear," said Constable Nightingale; "we'll look after you. Pull yourself together, there's a good soul, and answer me one or two questions. I know that Mr. Felix comes home late sometimes."
"Very often, very often."
"And that, as well as being generous with his money, he likes his pleasures. Now, are you sure he was at home when you went out for your beer?"
"I'm certain of it."
"And that he did not go out before you come back?"
"How can I tell you that?"
"Of course. A stupid question. But, at all events, he ain't the sort of man to go out in such a storm as this?"
"Not 'im. He's too fond of his comforts."
"Does he ever ring for you in the middle of the night--at such a time as this, for instance?"
"Never."
"Has he ever been took ill in the night, and rung you up?"
"Never."
"Do you ever go up to his room without being summoned?"
"It's more than I dare. I should lose the best customer I ever had in my life. He made things as clear as can be when he first come into the 'ouse. 'Never,' he ses to me, 'under any circumstances whatever, let me see you going upstairs to my rooms unless I call you. Never let me ketch you prying about. If I do, you shall 'ear of it in a way you won't like.'"
Constable Nightingale was silent a few moments, and then he said, briskly, "Let's us go and hunt up that cat."
But although they searched the basement through they could not find it.
"Perhaps," suggested Constable Wigg, "it got out of the house when we opened the street-door just now."
"Perhaps," assented Constable Nightingale, laconically.
Then they ascended the stairs to the ground floor, Constable Nightingale examining very carefully the marks of the cat's paws on the oilcloth.
"Do you see, Mrs. Middlemore? Blood. There's no mistaking it. And I'm hanged if it doesn't go upstairs to the first floor."
"You're not going up, Mr. Nightingale?" asked Mrs. Middlemore, under her breath, laying her hand on his arm.
"If I know myself," said Constable Nightingale, patting her hand, "I am. Whatever happens, it's my duty and Wigg's to get at the bottom of this. What else did you call us in for?"
"To be sure," said Mrs. Middlemore, helplessly, "but if you have any feeling for me, speak low."
"I will, my dear. My feelings for you well you must know, but this is not the time. Look here at this stain, and this, and this. The spectre cat has been up these stairs. Puss, puss, puss, puss! Not likely that it'll answer; it's got the cunning of a fox. That's Mr. Felix's room, if my eyes don't deceive me."
"Yes, it is."
"But it don't look the same door as the one I have been through; it ain't the first time I've been here, you know. Where's the keyhole? I'll take my oath there was a keyhole when I last saw the door."
"The key 'ole's 'id. That brass plate covers it; it's a patent spring, and he fixes it some'ow from the inside; he presses something, and it slides down; then he turns a screw, and makes it tight."
"Can anyone do it but him?"
"I don't think they can; it's 'is own idea, he ses."
"See how we're getting on, Wigg. No one can work that brass plate but him; that shows he's at home." He knocked at the door, and called "Mr. Felix, Mr. Felix!"
"He'll give me notice to leave," said Mrs. Middlemore, "I'm sure he will. He's the last man in the world to be broke in upon like this."
"Leave it to me, my dear," said Constable Nightingale, "I'll make it all right with him. What did he say to me when I was on this beat? I told you, you remember, Wigg. 'Constable,' says he, 'you're on night duty here.' 'Yes, sir,' I answers. 'Very good,' says he, 'I live in this house, and I always make it a point to look after them as looks after me.' That was a straight tip, and I'm looking after him now. Mr. Felix, Mr. Felix!"
But though he called again and again, and rapped at the door twenty times, he received no answer from within the room.
"It's singular," he said, knitting his brows. "He must be a sound sleeper, must Mr. Felix. I'll try again."
He continued to knock and call "loud enough," as he declared, "to rouse the dead," but no response came to the anxious little group on the landing.
"There's not only no keyhole," said Constable Nightingale, "but there's no handle to take hold of. The door's for all the world like a safe without a knob. Mr. Felix, Mr. Felix, Mr. Felix! Don't you hear us, sir? I've got something particular to say to you."
For all the effect he produced he might have spoken to a stone wall, and he and Constable Wigg and Mrs. Middlemore stood looking helplessly at each other.
"I tell you what it is," he said, tightening his belt, "this has got beyond a joke. What with the silence, and the bloodstains, and the man with the red handkercher round his neck as run out of the house while Wigg and me was talking together outside, there's more in this than meets the eye. Now, Mrs. Middlemore, there's no occasion for us to speak low any more; it's wearing to the throat. Have you got any doubt at all that the brass plate there couldn't be fixed as it is unless somebody was inside the room?"
"I'm certain of it, Mr. Nightingale, I'm certain of it."
"Then Mr. Felix, or somebody else, must be there, and if he's alive couldn't help hearing us, unless he's took a sleeping draught of twenty-horse power. There's a bell wire up there; Wigg, give me a back."
Constable Wigg stooped, and Constable Nightingale stood on his back and reached the wire, which he pulled smartly for so long a time that Constable Wigg's back gave way, and brought Constable Nightingale to the ground somewhat unexpectedly. Certainly every person in the house possessed of the sense of hearing must have heard the bell, which had a peculiar resonant ring, and seemed on this occasion to have a hundred ghostly echoes which proclaimed themselves incontinently from attic to basement. No well-behaved echo would have displayed such a lack of method.
"Oughtn't that to rouse him?" asked Constable Nightingale.
"It ought to," replied Mrs. Middlemore, "if----" and then suddenly paused, the "if" frozen on her tongue.
"Ah," said Constable Nightingale, gravely, "if!"
There was a window on the landing, and he opened it. The snow dust floated through it, but in less quantities, and there was a perceptible abatement in the violence of the storm. He closed the window.
"It ain't so bad as it was. Mrs. Middlemore, do you think I could force this door open?"
"Not without tools," said Mrs. Middlemore. "It's made of oak."
"No harm in trying," said Constable Nightingale. "Here, Wigg, give us a pound."
They applied their shoulders with a will, but their united efforts produced no impression.
"It's got to be opened," said Constable Nightingale, "by fair means or foul. Wigg, do you know of a locksmith about here?"
"I don't."
In point of fact Constable Nightingale knew of one, but it was at some little distance, and he did not want to leave Constable Wigg and Mrs. Middlemore alone.
"There's one in Wardour Street," he said.
"Is there?" said Constable Wigg. "I'm new to the neighborhood, and I'm certain I shouldn't be able to find it."
"All right," said Constable Nightingale, briskly, seeing his way out of the difficulty, "we'll go together."
"And leave me alone 'ere after what's happened!" cried Mrs. Middlemore. "Not if you was to fill my lap with dymens! That 'orrid cat 'd come and scare the life out of me!"
"We can't all go," mused Constable Nightingale, with a stern eye on his comrade, "and I ain't a man to shirk a duty; but don't go back on a pal, Wigg, whatever you do."
"Nobody could ever bring that against me, Nightingale," said Constable Wigg, in an injured tone; "and I don't know what you're driving at."
"I hope you don't," said Constable Nightingale, by no means softened, "that's all I've got to say. I hope you don't. You'd better both see me to the door, and shut it after me. And mind you keep your ears open to let me in when I come back."
Constable Nightingale, a victim to duty, was presently battling with the storm through the deserted streets, while Constable Wigg and Mrs. Middlemore, at the housekeeper's suggestion, made their way to the warm kitchen, where she brewed for her companion a stiff glass of grog. "What did Mr. Nightingale mean," asked Mrs. Middlemore, "when he said never go back on a pal?"
"I'd rather not say," replied Constable Wigg, and then appeared suddenly to come to a different conclusion.
"But why not? The last of my wishes would be to vex you, and when you're curious you like to know, don't you, my--I beg you a thousand pardons--don't you, ma'am?"
"Mr. Wigg," observed Mrs. Middlemore, "I'm a woman, and I do like to know. Oh!" she cried, with a little shriek, "was that somebody moving upstairs?"
"No, my dear, no. Keep close to me; I will protect you and proud of the chance, as who wouldn't be? When Nightingale threw out that hint, he meant, if I'm not mistook, that a lady should have only one admirer, hisself."
"Well, I'm sure!"
"He's not a bad sort of fellow, is Nightingale--it ain't for me to say anything against him--but when he wants a monopoly of something very precious"--and Constable Wigg looked languishingly at Mrs. Middlemore--"when he wants that, and as good as says it belongs to him and no one else, he touches a tender point. There's no harm in my admiring you, my dear; who could help it, that's what I'd like to know? Thank you--Iwilltake another lump of sugar. Yes, who could help it? Charms like yours--if you'll forgive me for mentioning 'em--ain't to be met with every day, and a man with a heart would have to be blind not to be struck. There! I wouldn't have spoke so free if it hadn't been for Nightingale and for your asking me what he meant. But a man can't always restrain his feelings, and I hope I haven't hurt yours, my dear."
"Not a bit, Mr. Wigg," said Mrs. Middlemore, and the tone would have been amorous had it not been for the mysterious trouble in her house; "you've spoke beautiful, and Mr. Nightingale ought to be ashamed of 'isself."
"Don't tell him I said anything, my dear."
"I won't. I give you my 'and on it."
He took it and squeezed it, and said, "What's passed we'll keep to ourselves."
"We will, Mr. Wigg."
"Here's to our better acquaintance, my dear."
"I'm sure you're kindness itself. Oh, Mr. Wigg, I 'ope nothing 'as 'appened to Mr. Felix."
"I hope so, too. My opinion is that he's out, and that the brass plate over the keyhole has got there by accident. But Nightingale always makes the worst of things. That's not my way. Wait till the worst comes, I say; it's time enough. You may worrit yourself to death, and be no better off for it after all."
In this strain they continued their conversation, Mrs. Middlemore declaring that it was quite a comfort to have Constable Wigg with her. She confided to him that she had a bit of money saved, and that Mr. Felix had said more than once that he would remember her in his will, which elicited from Constable Wigg the remark that he hoped Mr. Felix had made his will and had behaved as he ought to; "though, mind you," he added, "I don't believe anything's the matter with him, or that he's at home. It's all through that spectre cat, and as for bloodstains, they've got to be proved." A knocking and rattling at the street-door caused Mrs. Middlemore to cling very closely to him, and when she recovered her fright, they both went upstairs to let Constable Nightingale in.
"Is that you, Nightingale?" Constable Wigg called out before he turned the key.
"Yes, it's me," cried Constable Nightingale, without: "don't keep us waiting all night."
"He's got the locksmith with him," whispered Constable Wigg, with his lips very close to Mrs. Middlemore's ear. Then he threw open the street-door.
Constable Nightingale had somebody else with him besides the locksmith. Accompanying them was a tall, thin, gentlemanly-looking, but rather seedy young gentleman, who stepped quickly into the passage.
"Has anything took place?" inquired Constable Nightingale, glancing suspiciously from Constable Wigg to Mrs. Middlemore.
"Nothing," replied Constable Wigg. "There ain't been a sound in the house."
"Just as we turned the corner," said Constable Nightingale, with a motion of his hand toward the seedy young gentleman, "we met Dr. Lamb, who was coming home from a case, and as there's no knowing what might be wanted, I asked him to favor us with his company."
Mrs. Middlemore knew Dr. Lamb, who kept a chemist's shop in the neighborhood, and she gave him a friendly nod. It must have been a trying case that the young gentleman had come from, for he looked particularly shaky, and was rather unsteady on his legs. The locksmith now made some sensible remarks to the effect that he had been awakened from a sound sleep, and would like to get back to bed again; therefore, had they not better get to work at once? His suggestion was acted upon, and they all proceeded upstairs.
"I'll give him another chance," said Constable Nightingale, and he forthwith exerted the full strength of his lungs and hammered away at the door, to as little purpose as he had previously done. "There's nothing for it," he said, very red in the face, "but to force open the door in the name of the law."
The locksmith, who had brought a basket of tools with him, declared he would make short work of it, but after examining the door was forced to confess inwardly that this was an idle boast. It was of stout oak, and to remove the brass plate and pick the lock occupied him much longer than he expected. However, in the course of about twenty minutes the task was accomplished, and the door stood open for them to enter. Standing for a moment irresolutely on the threshold they were greeted by a blast of cold air. Constable Nightingale was the first to notice that the window was open, and he stepped into the room and closed it. The others followed, and were treading close on his heels when he waved them back, and pointed downward. There, on the floor, was a little pool of blood. They shuddered as they gazed upon it.
"I thought as much," said Constable Nightingale, the first to speak. "There's been foul play here. Who opened that window, and left it open on such a night? The cry for help you heard, Wigg, came from this room."
"But there's nobody here," said Constable Wigg.
"That's his bedroom," said Mrs. Middlemore, in an awestruck voice, pointing to a room the door of which was ajar.
They stepped softly toward it, Dr. Lamb now taking the lead. In an arm-chair by the side of the bed sat a man, his arms hanging listlessly down. Dr. Lamb shook him roughly.
"Wake up!"
But the figure did not move. Dr. Lamb leant over the recumbent form, and thrust his hand inside the man's waistcoat. Then, with his fingers under the man's chin, he raised the head, so that the face was visible.
"Good Lord!" cried Mrs. Middlemore. "It's Mr. Felix! What's the matter with him?"
Dr. Lamb put his finger to his lips, and did not immediately reply. When he removed his hand the head dropped down again, hiding the face.
"If you want to know what's the matter with the man," he said, presently, "he's dead."
"Dead!" exclaimed Mrs. Middlemore.
"As a doornail," said Dr. Lamb.