Appointment
The voice answered at last —
“I’ll meet you beside the lake in St. James’s Park, Buckingham Palace end, at twelve to-morrow. Remember that.”
“Very well,” I responded eagerly. “Anything more?”
“No,” was the reply. “Be careful how you get out, and where you go. So long!”
Then, next instant, I knew by the sound that the connexion had been switched off.
“What’s the matter?” asked Patterson, now beside me.
“Wait, and I’ll tell you afterwards,” I said, at the same time ringing up again.
In response I was answered by a feminine voice at the Exchange, who inquired what number I desired.
“Tell me, miss, who has just been speaking to me. Kindly oblige me, as it’s most important.”
There was silence for a few moments, then the female voice inquired – “Are you there?” to which I responded.
“You were on a moment ago with 14,982, the public call-office at Putney.”
“How long was I on?”
“About ten minutes.”
“Have I been on to the same place before this evening?” I asked.
“No. Several numbers have been ringing you up, but you haven’t replied.”
“Who were they?”
“Oh, I really can’t tell you now. It’s quite impossible. I remember that the call-office at Piccadilly Circus was one, and I think the one in the Minories.”
“They were all call-offices – no private persons?”
“I’m unable to say. I’ve been on duty for the past four hours, and have connected up thousands of numbers.”
“Then you can’t tell me anything else?” I asked disappointedly.
“No. I’m sorry I can’t,” replied the girl.
I was about to place the receiver on its hook when a sudden thought occurred to me, and again I addressed her.
“This matter is a most urgent one,” I said. “Can’t you ask at the call-office for a description of the man who has just been speaking?”
“There’s no one there. It is merely an instrument placed in a passage leading to some offices,” was the reply.
I hung up the receiver, and turning to Patterson repeated the conversation.
“Extraordinary,” he ejaculated, when I had concluded. “We must keep that appointment. The inquiry is plain proof that murder has been committed, and further, that more than one person is in the secret.”
“But is it not strange that this person, whoever he is, should dare to telephone in that manner?”
“It certainly is a bold move,” my companion answered, “but from his conversation it is evident that the assassin promised to telephone to him, and was either disturbed in his work and compelled to escape hurriedly, or else forgot it altogether. Again, it’s plain that to avoid detection the unknown man went from one call-office to another, always ringing up to this house, and never obtaining a response until you answered.”
“His inquiry was certainly a guarded one.”
“And your answers were smart, too,” he laughed. “You were careful not to commit yourself.”
“Do you think he’ll keep the appointment?” I asked eagerly.
“That remains to be seen,” answered my friend, glancing at the bull’s-eye to see if it were burning well. “If he’s not a blunderer he won’t.”
“Well, let’s hope he does,” I said. “You would arrest him, of course?”
“I don’t know,” he answered doubtfully. “We might learn more by keeping observation upon him for a day or two.”
“Well,” I said, “we haven’t yet searched the place thoroughly. Let’s see what is above.”
My companion followed me upstairs rather reluctantly, I thought, passing the room where the mysterious tragedy had occurred and ascending to the floor above. There were four bedrooms, each well-furnished, but finding that they contained nothing of a suspicious character we continued to the top floor, where there were several smaller low-ceilinged rooms opening from a narrow passage. Two of them were evidently the sleeping apartments of the servants, the third was filled with lumber, but the fourth, which overlooked the back premises, long and narrow, was fitted as a kind of workshop or laboratory. A curious smell greeted our nostrils as we opened the door – a smell very much like the perfume on the dead woman’s handkerchief.
We found a gas-jet and lit it, afterwards gazing round the place with some surprise. Upon shelves around the walls were various bottles containing liquids; on the table stood two curious-looking globes of bright steel, riveted like those of a steam-boiler, and connected by a long tubular coil rolled into three consecutive spirals which ended with a kind of nozzle. From the fact that an electric battery and a lathe also stood in the room we at once came to the conclusion that the master of that house had been engaged in some scientific investigations.
From place to place we went, searching every corner for any written document or letter, until at last I found, crumpled and cast into the empty grate, an old envelope on which I read the address: “Professor Douglas Dawson.”
“At any rate we’ve got the name of the occupant of this place,” I said, handing my find to the police-officer.
“Dawson?” he repeated, “Dawson? I fancy I’ve heard that name in connexion with scientific discovery.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “If he’s a well-known man we shall soon find out all about him at the Royal Institution.”
I was standing near the fireplace with the envelope still in my hand when, of a sudden, I was startled by a strange scuttling noise near my feet.
“Good heavens!” gasped Patterson, his eyes riveted on the spot. “Look there! Look at that glass case! There are snakes in it!”
I sprang away, and looking in the direction he indicated saw that a glass case, standing on the ground, contained two great snakes with beautiful markings of yellow and black. Even as I looked they were coiled, with their flat heads erect and their bead-like eyes shining like tiny stars in the shadow, their bodies half-hidden in a blanket.
“Nice kind of pets, to keep in a house,” observed Patterson. “That’s one of them that’s escaped into the garden, I expect.”
“I quite agree,” I said, “this place is decidedly the reverse of cheerful. Hadn’t we better report at once? There’s been a mysterious tragedy here, and immediate efforts should be made to trace the assassin.”
“But, my dear fellow, how do you know they’ve been murdered?” he argued. “There’s no marks of violence whatever.”
“Not
