There, in all its frightful reality, was the seal!
Chapter Twenty Two
The Verge of a Discovery
My first impulse was to call the police, but he noticed my intention, and his hand was laid hurriedly upon my mouth.
“There’s nothing to fear – I’m not the man,” he said. “Make no noise, and keep your own counsel. I can tell you plenty about this, if you care to listen.”
The words fell dimly and indistinctly upon my ears. I was stunned and speechless – it was as if some vast substance had struck me an annihilating blow, which, while paralysing my senses to a certain degree, yet left me half oblivious. It was clear we were in a cab, driving aimlessly about London streets at a late hour. It was also true that I had once more seen that fatal, horrible symbol, associated with which were the most terrifying and agonising events of my life. I could not, however, speak, and it was only by great effort that I retained my courage.
My companion stooped and picked up something that had fallen at our feet. It was the paper to which the seal was affixed, that had dropped from my nerveless fingers.
Suddenly an icy-cold hand was laid upon my forehead.
“Wake up! wake up! – be a man! I’ve told you to fear nothing with me. We’re wasting precious time. Arouse yourself for once in your life!”
My senses returned as suddenly as they had fled. The horror of feeling his hand – a hand that had in its possession the seal – recalled me. I sat upright and drew to my side of the cab as much as I could.
“Ah!” he exclaimed bitterly, “you are still afraid of me. See here, now,” and he leaned across, speaking deliberately and with quiet emphasis, “I may die to-night, but – ”
“What!” I exclaimed, “you die to-night?”
“Yes,” he replied, in the same cool and determined tone. “You seem incredulous, but I am sure. Look!”
He put his hand to the back of his head and withdrew it, holding it before my eyes.
“Blood! Good heavens?” I ejaculated, as again the light revealed his thin grimy fingers.
“True, and I’ve not long to live – all the more reason, is it not, that I should make haste? Will you come to my home, now?”
“At once. But let us drive to a doctor and see about your head.” All my repugnance had vanished.
“Wait,” he said, shouting to the cabman an address. I remember that we at once altered our course, but whither we were proceeding I cared not – knew not. Here was, perhaps, an elucidation of the mystery forthcoming, and I had nearly done my utmost to prevent it.
“Go on; tell me all you can,” I demanded, when, after considerable persuasion, he had consented to have his head bound up as well as my slight knowledge of surgery permitted.
“Presently. When we get home – or what was once my home,” he rejoined. He was paler than before, and leaned back in a state apparently of the utmost exhaustion. His necktie had been loosened, and I had placed my travelling rug around the thinly-covered chest, yet in spite of this the severe reaction affected him severely. Sometimes he closed his eyes, and every now and then, when we passed along streets where the lights were more brilliant than in others, he stared vacantly at the roof of the cab.
Once, when I was leaning over him, making him a little more comfortable, a tear rolled down the thin, haggard cheek.
The journey seemed interminable. Street after street we traversed, and yet our journey’s end appeared as far off as ever. We had evidently wandered a long way before our driver received a definite address, or possibly he was lengthening the course for his own benefit.
The fact was that, in my impatience, it appeared longer than it really would have done.
Eventually we regained the Strand, and shortly afterwards our conveyance came to a standstill in what appeared to be anything but an inviting neighbourhood. Not a soul was about, and the empty street rattled loudly as we clattered along it.
We were in Drury Lane, before the entrance to a narrow squalid court.
As we stopped I turned with a sigh of relief to my companion, who, however, stirred not.
A fearful misgiving entered my heart. Was it possible he was dead?
Profoundly thankful I felt when, after shaking him, he turned and opened his eyes.
“Come; is this the place?” I asked, assisting him to his feet.
He followed me mechanically, but leaned very heavily on my arm as we stood for a moment while I paid the cabman.
“Where is it?” was my next question.
With an effort he composed himself, passing his hand wearily over his eyes. He appeared much changed. Inwardly deploring my forgetfulness, I drew my flask from my pocket and tendered him a pull, which he accepted with feverish energy.
“Ah! that puts new life into one!” he exclaimed, with a gasp.
His tone struck me as peculiar, and, regarding him attentively, it was plainly to be seen that he was in a very faint condition.
“This way,” he continued, as, bracing himself up, he led the way up the court.
“Here – here was where I found her, murdered!”
“Who?” I asked, instantly.
“My wife.”
The words were simple ones, and might have been spoken and heard a thousand times on any day; but at that time, and in those circumstances, they thrilled me indescribably. If those two words had been uttered by an enthusiastic lover to his bride for the first time, they could not have been more tenderly breathed.
Brushing aside all sentiment, however, I inquired, coldly, “When was this?”
“On the night of the fourth of March.”
“What! that was the night after I returned from Russia!” I exclaimed, involuntarily. “And the seal. Was that found upon her?”
“It was. But hush! we may be overheard. Let us go in.”
Filled with horror and amazement, I followed him up the tortuous stairs of a house in close proximity to the spot. After mounting several flights in utter darkness, we entered an attic – as it proved on striking a match – containing only the scantiest possible furniture. In one corner stood a bed, and by it a broken wicker-bottomed chair. An old box was placed near the broken fireplace rusted by damp, and that, with a few other articles, formed the whole contents of the miserable apartment.
He lighted the piece of candle which was upon the box, and after carefully closing the door, we sat down.
Scarcely had we done this, however, than he fell forward with a crash upon the bare floor, the blood at the same time gushing out afresh from the wound at the back of the head, and forming a small pool. Greatly to my relief he spoke almost immediately, although in such low tones as to be scarcely audible.
“It’s useless to call for assistance, for the house is empty. Lay me on the bed, if you can, and I’ll tell you all – everything.”
“But you are hurt, and must be attended to,” I said. There was a pang at my heart all the time, for, with my selfish desire to solve the mystery at once, this new wound meant fresh delay.
“If you leave me you will, on returning, find me dead. Lay me on the bed; keep quiet, and listen.”
Those were the words he spoke, and strangely calm and composed they seemed. With a precipitation which I have never ceased to deplore, I lifted him as he desired, and gave up the idea of trying to obtain medical aid at that hour in a quarter unknown to me.
He was soon arranged as comfortably as possible. The spectacle he presented – spare, pale and gaunt, propped up on a squalid bed, the pillows all stained with blood – will never be erased from my memory.
At a sign from him I snuffed the cheap candle and drew closer to his side.
“A year ago on the fourth of next March,” he commenced, speaking deliberately, but in a very weak voice, “my wife left me for a few hours. We were in utter poverty, for our little all had been stolen from us by my wife’s brother-in-law. You may have guessed already that I was not always what I appear now. At one time – ”