looked like a bear lumbering in the company of an antelope. The gentleman did not appear anxious to talk, so Mulligan made the first remark.
"The song's done," said he, as they walked on.
"It isn't a long song," replied the other carelessly. "I dare say she'll start another soon, and you can listen at the gate half the night, if you have a mind to."
"It's a party you'll be having then, sir?"
"Party! No! Can't people sit up till midnight without having the house full of dancers?"
"Augh," grunted Mulligan; "there being no light in the hall, I might have guessed there was no party."
The other man started slightly and laughed uneasily. "My sister asked me to turn out the light when I went," said he. "I did so before I opened the door."
"You'll be going home then, sir?"
"Yes--to the other end of London. Is there a hansom about?"
"Near the station, sir. That'll be half a mile away."
"I know--I know," retorted the other quickly. "I often come here to see my sister." He paused, then added anxiously: "I suppose you know most of the people who live in these villas?"
"None, sir. I've only been on this beat a week."
"You'll get to know them soon, I expect. A quiet place, officer."
"It is that, sir," assented Mulligan, as they turned down a narrow and lonely street. "Never a robbery or an accident or a murder to make things happy."
"Why should there be a murder?" asked the man angrily. "Murders are not so common."
"More common than you think, sir, but the most of them aren't found out. It is I who'd like a really fine crime with my name in the papers, and a printed recommendation as an efficient officer. None of your poker murders and plain sailing you'll understand, sir, but a mystery, as you read of in them little books written by gentry as don't know the law."
"Ah! Incidents in detective novels rarely occur in real life," said the other, with a more tranquil laugh. "Providence is too original to borrow in that way. But live in hope, officer, a crime may come your way sooner than you expect."
"Not hereabouts, sir." Mulligan shook his head gloomily. "It's too clean a neighbourhood."
"The very place where a crime is likely to occur. Have you another light, constable?"
Mulligan struck another match, and this time he saw the face of the speaker clearly. It was a handsome face, rather worried-looking. But as the stranger wore a moustache and a small pointed beard, and as his Homberg hat--it was grey with a black band--was pressed down over his eyes, Mulligan could not determine if he were more than usually worried. Not that he minded. He fancied after some reflection that this handsome young gentleman was--as he put it--out on the spree, and therefore took the marks of worry for those of dissipation. He did not even examine the face closely, but when the match was extinguished he halted. "There's the half-hour, sir. I must get back to my beat."
"And I must race for a cab," said the stranger, pressing a half-crown into a not unwilling hand. "Thanks for coming so far with me, officer. I wonder if my watch is right," he added, pulling it out. "It's half-past eleven." Something fell at the moment, chipped against the curb with a tinkling sound, and rebounded into the road. "You've dropped something, sir," said Mulligan, flashing his lantern towards the middle of the street.
The other felt his pockets. "No, I don't think so. Can you see anything? Oh, no matter. I dare say--what can I have dropped?"
The two searched for a time without success. At length the stranger shook his head positively, and felt his pockets again. "You must be mistaken," he remarked. "I don't think anything is missing. However, if you do find anything, you can give it to me when you see me next. You are usually on this beat?"
"For the next three nights, sir."
"Ah then, we are sure to meet. I often come here. Good night." And with a wave of his hand the gentleman walked rapidly away. At the turn of the street he looked back and again waved his hand. It might have been that he was anxious to see if the constable was watching him. But no such suspicion occurred to Mulligan. He was too pleased with the half-crown.
"A fine upstanding young gentleman," was the policeman's verdict; "free with his money"--he here produced the cigarette--"and his tobacco, good luck go with him."
As the inspector was not within sight, and indeed would not be until Mulligan returned to the fixed point in Achilles Avenue, the policeman decided to solace himself with a smoke. After lighting up he threw away the match. It fell almost in the middle of the road, and flamed up brightly in a pause of the wind. Although it went out with the next gust, Mulligan, in the short time, caught with his keen eye the glitter of steel. Striking another match, he searched round, and picked up a latch-key, long and slim and with scarcely projecting wards. "He'll not get to his bed this night," said Mulligan, looking towards the corner. "If I was to run after him now------"
But this, he decided, was impossible. The gentleman, walking at an unusually rapid pace, would be some distance away, and also in the meantime he might have met with a hansom. Also Mulligan had to return to the fixed point, as failure to meet his superior officer would meet with a sharp reprimand. "Ah well," said the philosophic policeman, "the young gentleman will be here to-morrow night, or maybe his sister will be still up, and I can give the key to her."
On the chance of securing another half-crown, Mulligan decided that this latter course would be the more diplomatic. Astutely adopting it, he walked smartly to Achilles Avenue. A consultation of his Waterbury watch assured him that he had nearly twenty minutes to spare before the arrival of the inspector. He therefore sought out Ajax Villa, being guided thereto by the fact that the light was still burning on the first floor. But he heard no singing. However, the light showed that the lady was still in the room, though doubtless the servants--as was shown plainly by the stranger's conversation--were in bed. Mulligan walked up to the door and rang. With some foresight he argued the lady would come herself to the door, whereby he would be more certain of his money.
The wind was dying down, now that it was close upon midnight, and everything in the house and garden was absolutely still. Walking up the path under the umbrageous shelter of the elms, Mulligan saw the colours of the flowers in neutral tints under a faint starry sky. There was no moon, but a kind of luminous twilight pervaded the atmosphere. Mulligan, being a Celt, was not impervious to the charm of the place which might have been Juliet's garden, so strangely had the magic of night transmuted its commonplace into romance. But his housemaid was expensive, and he hurried to the door, anxious to obtain a reward for the return of the key.
Several times did he ring, and although he heard the shrill vibration of the bell echo through the house, no one appeared in answer to its imperative summons. Thinking he might have made a mistake, the constable stepped back into the garden. But he was right. This was the villa out of which the young man had issued, for there burned the guiding light on the first floor. Mulligan felt puzzled by the inexplicable silence and rang the bell again. Indeed he pressed his great thumb on the ivory button for nearly one minute. The bell shrilled continuously and imperiously. Still no one came. Mulligan scratched his head and considered. "Something's wrong," thought he. "If I'd the key I'd enter and see if the lady is ill. Queer, the bell don't waken the servants. Augh! The lazy beasts."
It occurred to him that in his hand he held the key dropped by the young gentleman. Almost without
