The Red Widow; or, The Death-Dealers of London by William Le Queux

  *CHAPTER XII*

  *THE PERSON FROM UPSTAIRS*

  Marigold Ramsay, still pretending her sudden and unaccountable illness,lay upon a narrow iron bedstead in the spare room of Bernard Boyne'shouse, listening, and unable to sleep. She was there as a watch-dog.

  Time after time she heard the bells of St. Paul's, Hammersmith, chimingthe hours, but there was no sound below. Mr. Boyne had not returned.

  The night was sultry and her window was slightly open. As she layawake, she wondered what strange secret could be hidden in that house ofmystery. Her aunt suspected nothing. That was evident, or she wouldhave mentioned it to her. To old Mrs. Felmore, Bernard Boyne was a goodand patient master, the persevering honest man which all Hammersmithjudged him to be. None dreamed that he led such a curious double lifeof dusty tramping by day, and enjoying himself in the gay haunts of theWest End by night.

  It was nearly half-past two when a taxi set him down at the end ofHammersmith Bridge, and he walked to that house covered with virginiacreeper. Not recollecting the fact that Marigold might still be there,and knowing that old Mrs. Felmore would not hear him enter, he placedhis key in the latch and entered, closing the door heavily, as was hiswont.

  Marigold, on the alert, heard him. He went along the narrow, stuffypassage into his sitting-room. The girl sprang from her bed, put on thedressing-gown her aunt had lent her, and opened the door noiselessly.She heard the click of a lock in the room below, and knew that Boyne wasgiving Nibby his food, as he did every night without fail. Mrs. Felmorealways left him something, meat or biscuit, to give the tame rat eachnight before he retired.

  "Nibby" was Mr. Boyne's weird obsession; Mrs. Felmore hated it, but itwas in its cage living in the cupboard by day, and allowed to run aboutthe room at night, nibbling the evening newspaper or the old-fashionedfurniture, for it was as destructive as all its race. One day Mrs.Felmore found that it had gnawed the corner of the carpet, while on thenext she discovered that it had made a hole into the door of thecupboard opposite that in which it lived. And rat-holes are unsightly,to say the least.

  As Marigold listened she heard Mr. Boyne speaking to his pet.

  "Now then, you've had enough, Nibby! Get back, you elusive littledear!" And she heard him chasing him across the floor.

  Then he unlocked another cupboard, and a few minutes later he came outinto the passage and ascended the stairs. In consequence she closed herown door noiselessly, slipped the bolt, and stood listening. He passedher door, and then ascended the next flight of stairs, therefore shereopened her door instantly and, looking out, saw his form disappearinground the corner of the next landing.

  She held her breath. He was dressed in that long hooded cloak of white,just as she had seen him on that well-remembered night weeks ago. Hewas on his way to that locked room, and carried in his hand food for itsimprisoned occupant!

  Dare she follow him? She was there at Gerald's suggestion, and it wasfor her to discover all she could. As she listened she heard the keybeing put into the Yale lock of that strong door at the top of thestairs. She heard him enter, the latch clicking behind him.

  Then she heard strange cries--cries of surprise and rage--human cries!

  Summoning courage she crept noiselessly after him, listening intently.There were no sounds of voices--only those strange cries--though, havingascended the second flight of stairs, she could see a streak of lightbeneath the door, and could hear him moving about within. Suddenly,just as she was about to ascend the third flight, she heard him approachthe door and open it. Instantly she drew back and flew down into herroom. And none too quickly, for a second later they would haveencountered each other face to face.

  Boyne, unsuspicious of being watched, for so occupied was he that he hadforgotten Marigold's presence in the house, returned to hissitting-room, divested himself of the hideous disguise which he alwayswore when visiting the locked room, and then reascended to bed.

  The girl lay awake for hours until, wearied out, she fell asleep tillher aunt brought her some tea.

  "Don't let Mr. Boyne know that I've stayed here to-night, auntie," shesaid, getting up hurriedly. "I'll get away before he comes down. Idon't want him to know I've been so ill."

  The old woman read her lips and nodded, saying in a whisper:

  "As soon as you're gone, dear, I'll make the bed."

  "I don't want any breakfast. I'll get to the City early, and have itthere."

  And this she did.

  When Boyne came down to breakfast he asked his housekeeper how her niecewas, to which she replied that she had recovered at about ten o'clock onthe previous night and gone home to Wimbledon.

  Saturday was always an "off" day with Mr. Boyne. Working people did notpay their weekly insurance premiums till Monday. Saturday is thehalf-day with the working class as Wednesday is with the shop-keepingcommunity. Now on that particular Saturday Bernard Boyne, at eleveno'clock in the forenoon, sent Mrs. Felmore to King Street to buy him atin of tomato soup. He wrote down the brand on an old envelope. And hewanted nothing else.

  "If one grocer has not got it, another has, no doubt. If you can't getit in Hammersmith go down to Chiswick or Bedford Park," he said."You'll find it somewhere."

  And the old woman, whose shopping successes were always marvellousconsidering her stone deafness, went forth, little dreaming that such abrand as that he had written down was non-existent.

  So all the morning until well into the afternoon Bernard Boyne had thehouse entirely to himself. As soon as she had gone, Boyne put on hiswhite disguise and, rushing upstairs to the locked room, opened it.

  "Now then!" he shouted roughly. "Are you ready? Have you dressed yet?No--you haven't. Now put it on--quick. Come out and get some air. It'sstifling in this place!"

  He waited at the door, whereupon a white figure, dressed exactly thesame as himself, emerged, and slowly and painfully came down the stairs.

  The two weird figures, linked arm in arm, descended to Boyne's parlour,whereupon in an authoritative tone he ordered the strange creature to beseated.

  "Sit there!" he said. "And I'll open the window. You want a bit of airand exercise."

  "Food! Food!" came the words, weak and squeaky behind the hideous mask.

  "Very well. I'll go and get you some. But you can't eat it yet. Nottill you're back again in your own room. Food!" he said roughly, with asneer. "You're always wanting food and water. Fortunately the cisternis up there, or I'd have to carry up every drop for you. But your foodI never forget, do I, eh?" he shouted, as though the strange figure wasas deaf as old Mrs. Felmore.

  The hooded figure, huddled in the arm-chair, only shrugged itsshoulders.

  From the voice it was impossible to tell the sex of the individual. Thetone was weak, squeaky, and quite unnatural.

  "Now, tell me, what have you done?" asked Boyne. "How is itprogressing? I know you must be lonely sometimes, but it can't behelped. You are not fit to mix with us, you know. And you exist uponmy charity. I am always good to you! Understand that!"

  "I--I know," squeaked the figure, whose white cloak was soiled andstained, while those two long slits for the eyes under the pointed hoodgave it a most weird and forbidding appearance.

  "I hope you appreciate all I've done for you," Boyne went on. "If I hadnot risked all this, where would you have been--tried and executed inthe hangman's noose. But I have done my best--though often you don'tappreciate it."

  "I--I do!" cried the voice from behind that strange disguise. "And I doall that you tell me," it whined.

  "Very well," laughed Boyne. "We'll let it rest at that. The failureyou lately had put me right in the cart. We mustn't have another.Remember that! Let it sink into your brain. You are clever, I know.But a single slip and both of us will go where we don't want to!"

  "I know! I know! Yes--yes," replied the huddled figure. "But it wasthe weather--always the weather. And it is so hot under that roof."


  "Weather be hanged!" replied Boyne. "This is winter--cold winter!--andyet you believe it to be summer."

  As a matter of fact, it was hot summer weather, yet Boyne was trying toimpress upon his companion that heat was cold, and vice versa.

  The two weird figures in white cloaks, with only slits for the eyes,like Brothers of the Misericordia of Mediaeval Italy, only in white,instead of black, sat opposite each other. Boyne was giving to hisprisoner a breath of air, and a change in his living room.

  A few minutes later the strange occupant of the locked room uttered thesingle word:

  "Nibby?"

  "Oh, yes, dear little Nibby is here," was Boyne's reply.

  Rising, he fumbled beneath his cloak, and with his key unlocked thecupboard and opened the cage, from which the tame rat darted down andacross the room. A second later he was sniffing the cloak of the figurefrom upstairs, running around the hem of the cloak with his little pinknose, while the wearer of the cloak put down a hand to be smelt, saying:

  "Nibby, my dear little Nibby, that I have lost so long!"

  In all London no scene in broad daylight could have been more weird thanthat at noon on a summer morning in Bridge Place, Hammersmith.

  Boyne, the mystery man, held in such high esteem from Addison Road toKew, sat there with the poor crouching figure as his victim. Behindthose long narrow slits in the white fabric showed a pair of dark,deep-sunken eyes--eyes that were inhuman and unnatural.

  The voice from behind the mask was metallic and squeaky. Whether theperson was a man or a woman could not be conjectured. The high-pitchednote was feminine.

  "Am I not good to you to allow you this little relaxation?" asked Boyne."You don't often get it, I admit, for the old deaf crone is alwaysabout, and I can seldom get rid of her."

  "I--I felt--I felt very ill--last week. Days ago!" croaked themysterious occupant of the locked room.

  "I go up to you every day. You never complained. You are usually asleepwhen I come up."

  "You come up at night. But all day I look out from the window over theroofs towards the river."

  "River! What do you mean? There is no river here. It is a desert--adesert of bricks and mortar. You dream."

  "Yes--yes. I dream! I--I'm always dreaming," was the response.

  It was evident that Boyne held his half-imbecile prisoner completely inhis power, and that all the orders of the insurance agent were obeyed.

  Into the room strayed a ray of summer sunlight across the threadbaregreen carpet, lighting up the dingy old place.

  The stranger from upstairs saw it, and squeaked:

  "Look! It's summer--summer!"

  "Summer!" cried the man who held him enthralled. "You're dreaming!It's winter. We get sun in winter sometimes. Surely you knowthat--dense as you are."

  "I'm not dense," came the protest. "I do all you ask--fine jobs, too."

  "You're dense about sunshine," Boyne repeated.

  "Ah! yes. But not about the rats. Where's Nibby?"

  Boyne caught the little animal and gave it into the hands of the strangefigure, who stroked its sleek coat.

  Suddenly the weird form in the soiled white disguise sprang to its feetwithout warning, and, facing its jailer, shrieked:

  "Ah! But who are you? Who are you? I'm beginning to realise the truthat last--_yes--at last_!"