The Master Detective: Being Some Further Investigations of Christopher Quarles

by Percy James Brebner

CHAPTER IV

THE MYSTERIOUS HOUSE IN MANLEIGH ROAD

The dramatic suicide of Martin Delverton, and the solution of a mystery which had been relegated to the list of undiscovered crimes produced a sensation. The public clamored for intimate particulars concerning Christopher Quarles, the house in Chelsea was besieged by hopeful interviewers, and the professor could only escape their attentions by going out of town. It was an excellent excuse for golf, he declared, and an opportunity to improve on his five handicap. I am bound to say that while I was with him he never went round in less than twenty over bogey, and when he only took twenty over he had luck.

This sudden enthusiasm on the part of the public was the cause of some difficulty and not a little annoyance so far as I was personally concerned.

As I have said elsewhere, I have constantly received the credit of unmasking a scoundrel simply because Quarles chose to remain in the background, but I have never claimed any credit to which I was not entitled. It was distinctly hard, therefore, when all the praise for bringing a series of crimes to light was given to him when justly it should have been accorded to me. I had been engaged on the work at the time the case of Eva Wilkinson had cropped up, my investigations had prevented my accompanying Quarles and Zena to Devonshire. He would be the first to deny that he had any part in solving these problems. I daresay I mentioned certain points about them to him, he may possibly have made a suggestion or two, but it is only because he had really nothing to do with them that they have found no place in his chronicle. I admit I was much annoyed, because I rather prided myself on the astuteness I had displayed.

Curiously enough, it was not only the public who persisted in giving him the credit, but the victims of my ingenuity as well, and the mistake was destined to bring peril to both of us in a most unexpected manner.

I was at breakfast one morning about a week after our little golfing holiday, when Quarles telephoned for me to go to him at once. He would give me no information, except that it was an urgent matter, and it was like him to ignore the possibility that I might have another engagement. As it happened I was free that morning, and was soon on my way to Chelsea.

I found him studying some pamphlets and letters which had apparently come altogether in the big envelope which was lying on the table.

"Have you seen the paper this morning?" he asked.

"I had just opened it when you 'phoned to me."

"Did you read that?"

He pointed to a paragraph headed, "Strange Affair in Savoy Street," and I read as follows:

"Last night, just after twelve o'clock, an elderly gentleman was walking down Savoy Street, and was approaching the Embankment end, when a man stepped from a doorway and deliberately fired at him. This was the old gentleman's story told to half a dozen pedestrians who came running to the spot. He seemed rather dazed, as well he might be, at the sudden attack, and his assailant had disappeared. None of those who were first upon the scene saw him, and although there is no doubt that a revolver was fired, and that the gentleman's description of the assailant's position was so exact that the bullet was found embedded in a door on the opposite side of the street, the denouement casts some doubt on the story. Quite a small crowd had collected by the time the police arrived, and then the old gentleman was not to be found. In the excitement he had slipped away without any one seeing him go. We understand that the police theory is that there was no attempt at murder, but that the old gentleman, having fired a revolver for a lark, or perhaps for a wager, told a tale to save himself from the consequences of his folly, and then, seizing his opportunity, quietly slipped away. Those who were first upon the spot say his dazed condition may have been the result of too much to drink. We cannot say the explanation is altogether satisfactory to us."

"Well?" said Quarles when he saw I had finished.

"I agree with the writer of the paragraph," I answered. "The explanation is far from satisfactory. Such a story and such a smart disappearance do not suggest drunkenness."

"Perhaps not, although it is wonderful how Providence seems to watch over the drunken man. However, the elderly gentleman was not drunk and his story was strictly true. I was the elderly gentleman."

"You! And your assailant?"

Quarles got up and walked slowly to the window and back again.

"It was a very near thing, Wigan, and it has got on my nerves a bit. You know that I am held chiefly responsible for the solution of these robbery cases with which you have been busy lately. That belief is at the bottom of this attempt, I fancy. You remember the fellow who got off over the first affair. There was little doubt of his guilt, but you had insufficient evidence to bring it home to him. He was the man who fired at me last night."

"Had you no chance of capturing him?"

"No, and the moment I saw his face clearly by the light of a street lamp as he turned to run away, I made up my mind not to give information. I should have got away at once, only people were on the spot too quickly; so I told the simple truth, and slipped away at the first opportunity to avoid being recognized by the police. It was rather neatly done, I think."

"But I do not see why you should withhold information," I said.

"I didn't want my name mentioned in connection with the affair, and I did not want the man to know I had recognized him. I think there is bigger game to go for. All along I have believed that in these cases of yours there was a connecting-link, a subtle personality in the background. I believe you have only succeeded in bringing some of the tools to justice."

"And you want to get at the central scoundrel?"

"I must, or he will get at me. Without knowing it I have probably escaped other traps he has set. The fact that I am only your scapegoat does not alter the position. He means to have me if he can. We, or rather you, have come very near to unmasking him, I imagine, and his fear has made him desperate."

"What is to be done?"

"I want you to go very carefully through those cases, treating them as though they were all part of one problem. If necessary, you could get an interview with one or two of the men who are doing time. When a man is undergoing punishment, and believes that an equally guilty person has got off scot-free, he is likely to become communicative."

"All this will take time, and in the meanwhile—"

"I am chiefly concerned with the meanwhile," said Quarles, "and it happens rather fortunately that I have something to interest me and take my mind off the matter. These letters and pamphlets were sent to me a few days ago by Dr. Randall. You have heard of him, no doubt."

"I don't think so."

"He is a specialist in nervous diseases, so is naturally interested in psychological matters. An article of mine in a psychological review attracted his attention, and through a mutual friend—a barrister in the Temple—we were introduced last night. To-night I am dining with Randall at a little restaurant in Old Compton Street, and—well, I want you to come too, Wigan."

"But—"

"Oh, I can make it all right. I shall send him a note, asking if I can bring a friend who is much interested in these matters."

"But I am not, and directly I open my mouth I shall show my ignorance."

"Then obviously you must keep your mouth shut," said Quarles. "The fact is, Wigan, last night has got on my nerves. I am—I may as well be quite honest—I am a little afraid of going about alone. I want you to call for me and go with me."

"Of course I will. But surely, with your nerves on edge, it would be wiser to keep away from psychological problems. What is the particular problem?"

"Randall will explain to-night, and you must at least pretend to be interested. As regards my nerves, I can assure you this kind of thing is a relief after the other. I do not think I am a coward as a rule, but I am afraid of this unknown scoundrel. I have a presentiment that I am in very real danger."

"You probably exaggerate it," I said.

"Maybe. But I never ignore a strong presentiment, and I—I slept with a loaded revolver under my pillow last night, Wigan."

There was no doubt as to his nervous condition; he showed it in his restlessness, in his acute consciousness of sounds in the house and in the street. He expected to be brought suddenly face to face with danger, and was afraid he would not be ready to meet it.

He certainly was not himself. Zena had gone to stay with friends in the country for a few days, or I should have got her to persuade the old man to give up this psychological business—at least until he was in a normal condition again.

The restaurant, where we found Dr. Randall waiting for us, was one of those excellent little French places which cannot be beaten until they have become too successful and popular, when they almost invariably deteriorate. Randall said he was delighted the professor had brought me, and dinner was served at once at a cozy table in a corner.

"A patient of mine originally brought me here," said the doctor. "It is rather a discovery, I think, and personally I prefer dining where I am unlikely to come in contact with a lot of people I know. In recent years we have improved, of course; but in England we still eat, while in France they dine. Here we are practically in France."

Certainly more French was spoken than English, and the doctor spoke in French to the waiter. Quarles's nervousness, which had been apparent during the drive from Chelsea, disappeared as dinner progressed, and I did not suppose a stranger like Randall would notice it. He would probably form rather a wrong impression of the professor, would look upon him as a highly-strung man, and would not realize that he was not in a normal condition this evening. Randall carried his profession in his face, but for the time being his medical manner was laid aside; nor did he speak of the business which had brought us together until we had got to the coffee and liqueur stage.

"I suppose you read the papers I sent you, Professor?"

"Yes, but rather cursorily," Quarles answered. "I think if you told the whole story I should understand it better; besides, my friend here knows nothing of it, and will bring an unbiased mind to bear upon it."

"And may give us a new idea," said the doctor. "I don't know whether you are acquainted with Manleigh Road, Bayswater. There are about fifty houses in it—a terrace, in fact, on either side. The houses are sixty or seventy years old, I daresay, ugly but roomy, and some few years ago a lot of money was spent in bringing them up to date, putting in bath-rooms, modernizing them, and redecorating them thoroughly. In spite of this, however, they have not attracted the kind of tenant they were intended for. Many of them have apartments to let. The house we have to do with is No. 7. The even numbers are on one side of the road, the odd on the other. No. 5 is a boarding-house of a very respectable kind, frequented by young fellows in business chiefly. No. 9 is occupied by a man who, after retiring from business comparatively wealthy, had financial losses. His four daughters have had to go out and work. I mention these facts to show that the surroundings are entirely commonplace. The owner of No. 7 went abroad some years ago, owing to the death of his wife, I understand, and left the house in the hands of an agent. It was to be let furnished, but, except for a caretaker, it remained empty for several months. It was then taken by a newly-married couple. They could not remain in it. The house was haunted, they said, and I believe the agent threatened them with legal proceedings if they spread such an absurd report. He seemed to think they said so only to repudiate their bargain. It was then let to a man named Greaves, about whom nothing was known. He paid the rent in advance, and lived there alone with a housekeeper and a young servant. One morning he was found dead in his bed, in the large room on the first floor at the back. A piece of cord was fastened tightly round his neck. There seemed little doubt that he had committed suicide, for when he did not come down to breakfast the housekeeper went to his room and found the door locked on the inside. It had to be broken open. Perhaps you heard of the case?"

Quarles shook his head.

"Well, the door was locked on the inside, the window was shut and fastened, there was no sign that any one had entered the room, and nothing was missing. Foul play was out of the question, but the doctor who was called in was troubled about the affair. It was from him that I had these particulars. Dr. Bates had become acquainted—not professionally, I believe—with the young couple who had lived in the house for a time, and they had told him the place was haunted. In bringing his judgment to bear upon Greaves' death, it is only right to remember that his mind had received a bias."

"I take it he did not believe it was a case of suicide," said Quarles.

"His reason told him it must be, yet something beyond reason told him it wasn't."

"He thought it was murder?" I asked.

"No, not ordinary murder," Randall answered. "He thought it was a supernatural death."

"I have read the letter he wrote to you; there is nothing very definite in it," said Quarles.

"It was his indefinite state of mind which caused him to relate the whole story to me. When the police failed to make any discovery, he thought some one interested in psychological research might solve the mystery."

"What, exactly, were the experiences of this young couple?" I asked.

"Chiefly noises, footsteps echoing through a silent house. Once the shadow of a man, or so it seemed, was thrown suddenly upon the wall by a ray of moonlight, and once the curtains and sheets of a bed were found torn, as if hands, finding nothing else to destroy, had taken vengeance upon them. Of course, this all comes second-hand from Dr. Bates."

"And is probably unconsciously exaggerated," said Quarles. "The ordinary man is almost certain to overstate and to emphasize unduly one part of the evidence."

"That was my feeling exactly," returned Randall, "so I spent a night in that haunted room myself. The result was disappointing."

"Did nothing happen?" I asked.

"There was no direct manifestation—at least I saw nothing, and I do not think I heard anything, but I am sure that I felt something. It was very vague. You know it is my theory," Randall went on, addressing me, "that different individuals are sensitive to different influences. For example, let us suppose a certain spot is haunted, a spot where something particularly desperate has taken place in the past. Now I believe that A, B, and C, all sensitive to supernatural influences, may watch there and seeing nothing, but that D, being sensitive to that particular influence, or moving on that particular plane, may be successful. In another case, where D fails, A, B, or C may be successful. I think it is this fact which accounts for the comparatively small number of experiences which we are able to authenticate. It was an article of the professor's, setting forth similar views, which made me anxious to make his acquaintance."

"Are you suggesting that he should spend a night in this house?" I asked.

"I do not think I suggested such a thing," said Randall with a smile, "but I believe that is the professor's intention."

"It is," said Quarles.

"When?" I asked.

"On Friday night."

"Greaves died on a Friday night," said Randall. "It is a small point, perhaps, but, like myself, the professor believes in small details."

"I suppose the agent will let me have the key," said Quarles.

"I do not know the agent. I got the key through Dr. Bates, and I can give you a card of introduction to him."

"It will be a very interesting experiment," I said, looking as learned as I could. I thought I had kept my end up very well, and far from having to pretend to be interested, as Quarles had suggested, I was profoundly interested, not in the psychological discussion, but in the Bayswater mystery. I had heard of it before, and remembered that Martin, one of the oldest members of the force, had said that it was no more a case of suicide than he was a raw recruit. I am far from saying that no mystery is to be accounted for by the supernatural, but I always want to test it in every other way first.

Quarles was pleased to jeer at me for a skeptic as we drove back to Chelsea. He did not consider me altogether a fool as a detective, but he had no use for me as a psychological student.

"Anyway, it is a pity you are undertaking this business in your present nervous state," I said. "At least let me be with you on Friday night."

"Nonsense, that would make the experiment useless. You clear up the mystery of this subtle scoundrel who has tried to get me shot and my nervous state will soon disappear."

As a matter of fact, I couldn't settle to a careful study of my recent cases, as the professor had suggested. I tried and failed. I could not forget the experiment which was to be made on Friday night, and on Wednesday morning I took action. First of all, I arranged that a special constable should be on duty in Manleigh Road, and from his appearance no one would have supposed that anything in the way of a genius had been introduced into the neighborhood. He looked a fool; he was one of the smartest men I knew. Strangely enough, on the Thursday night No. 7 was burgled quite early in the evening as soon as it was dusk. Two men got in at a basement window, and the constable was quite close at the time. He had instructions, in fact, to give warning to the burglars if there was any danger of their being seen.

I had not burgled the house alone; I had taken a young detective named Burroughs with me. Of course, I might say it was because I wanted to give him a chance, or because I thought we might encounter desperate characters in the house; but as a fact, it was the supernatural element which decided me. I do not like the idea of the supernatural; my nerves, excellent in their way and in their own sphere, are inclined to get jumpy under certain conditions.

We went up from the basement cautiously, and it would have needed keen ears to have heard our movements.

Without showing a light, we went into every room in the house. Those in front had some light in them from a street lamp outside, but those at the back were dark, although, after a while, we got accustomed to the dark, and could see to some extent. None of the blinds was drawn, and although there was no moon, it was a clear, starlit night.

Our special attention was devoted to the room where Greaves had been found dead. It was substantially furnished, mid-Victorian in character. The lock on the door, which had been broken open, had been mended, and the window was fastened. Systematically we examined every article of furniture and the innocent-looking cupboard. The walls were substantial, but we did not subject them to tapping. I did not want to arouse the neighbors to the fact that No. 7 was not empty to-night.

"We have a long vigil before us, Burroughs," I said.

"What do you expect to discover, sir?"

"I don't know, nothing most likely; but if anything does happen it is going to happen in this room. I am going to take up my position in this chair by the bed, and I want you to keep watch on the landing. If you hear any one about the house come in to me at once, but if you only hear me move don't come in unless I call. I shall not fasten the door, but I shall put it to. If in some way it is possible to find out that this room is occupied, I want to appear as if I were quite alone. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly."

I saw Burroughs settled in a chair on the landing; then I entered the room and closed the door without latching it, and there was a certain feeling down my spine, in spite of the knowledge that I had a comrade near at hand.

It was quite beyond me how Quarles could undertake to stay there all alone. I could have done it had I been convinced that danger could only come from a material foe; it was the idea of the supernatural which beat me. I was not skeptic enough to be unmoved.

I had determined to sit beside the bed; but remembering that Greaves had been found on the bed I first of all lay down for a minute or two. The bed was not made up, but the mattresses were there with blankets over them, and the hangings were in place. The key to the mystery might lie in some hidden mechanism in the bed. Then I settled myself in the chair beside the bed, my hand in my pocket on my revolver.

This kind of waiting is always a trial. The silence, the bodily inactivity while the mind is strained to be keenly alert, have a sort of hypnotic influence. An untrained man will certainly fancy he hears and sees things, and even a trained man has to light hard against the desire to sleep. There comes a longing for something, anything, to happen. I think I got into a condition at last in which I should have welcomed a ghost. There was no church clock near to break the monotony with its striking; time seemed non-existent.

Once I thought I heard Burroughs shift his position on the landing outside, and there presently came to me an uncontrollable desire to move. I stood up. Just to walk to the window and back would make all the difference.

My journey across the room was noiseless, and, coming back, I stopped suddenly.

To my left there was movement, movement without sound. In an instant my revolver was ready, and then I felt a fool. In a recess there was a glass fixed to the wall, we had noticed it when we examined the room, and I had caught the dim reflection of my head and shoulders in it. The glass was just at that height from the floor.

I went to it and called myself a fool to my reflection. I could only see myself very dimly, so I cannot say whether the incident had driven any color from my face.

It had the effect of quieting my restlessness, at any rate. I returned to my chair refreshed, feeling capable of keeping a vigil, however long it might last.

Almost unconsciously I began to consider how many deceptions looking-glasses were responsible for, and remembered some of the illusions I had seen at the Egyptian Hall. No doubt looking-glasses had played a large part in some of them.

And then I began to wonder why the mattresses had been left upon the bed. Was the agent expecting to let the house again at once, or had they been put there for Quarles's convenience to-morrow night?

How long my mind slid from one thing to another I cannot say; but gradually my ideas seemed to dwindle away into nothingness, and it is easy to imagine that I slept. I do not think I did, however.

Although my mind was a blank for a time, I am convinced I never lost consciousness of that room or of the business I had in hand. There was absolutely no sensation of waking, only another sudden desire to move.

Again I walked to the window, and as I came back I glanced in the direction of the glass. This time my own reflection did not startle me; not because I was ready for it, but because I did not see it.

I must have crossed the room at a different angle, or my eyes—

I went to the glass, and then I started. There was no reflection. I was not in the glass.

In a moment the knowledge that this room was haunted came to me in full force. There was the glass, plainer than I had seen it before, my eyes were not at fault. Indeed, as I stared into it, there was a dim outline of images in the glass, the furniture of the room, but of me no reflection at all. Was I bewitched? Surely I must be in my chair, sleeping, dreaming, for suddenly in the glass, moving as in a mist, there were shadows—a bed and a man lying on it, and bending over him was another man whose hands were twisting about his companion.

I tried to call out to stop him, then I drew back, and the next moment I was at the door, speaking to Burroughs in a whisper.

"What is it?" he asked, coming swiftly into the room.

"Look!" and I seized him by the arm and drew him to the looking-glass.

"Well, what is it?" he asked again.

His reflection and mine were looking out at us, one scared face, mine; one full of questioning, his.

I told him what I had seen.

"You dropped off to sleep, Mr. Wigan, that's what it was."

Had I? It couldn't have been a dream, and yet faith in myself was shaken. It was possible I had only walked across the room a second time in my dreams. One thing is certain, I did not fall asleep again that night.

I had arranged with the constable in Manleigh Road that he should keep a careful watch at dawn. We should leave then by the same way as we had entered, and he was to signal to us if the coast was clear.

It was an essential part of my plan that no one should know the house had been occupied that night. I had kept watch, thinking that if harm were intended to Quarles the trap would be made ready previously. How and by whom I had not fully considered. Now I determined not to leave the house during the day.

I would be there when Quarles came that night.

I scribbled a note to him, explaining what I was doing, and I said that if the agent should accompany him to the house I would remain hidden until the agent had gone. This note I gave to Burroughs, and instructed him to explain matters to the constable.

I had provided myself with a flask and some dry biscuits in case of contingencies, and prepared to pass the day as comfortably as I could. It is needless to say that in daylight I examined that haunted room again, especially the looking-glass.

It was in an ornamental wooden frame fixed on the wall, formed, in fact, a finish to a wooden dado. It was like the fixed overmantel one finds sometimes in small modern villas, only it wasn't over the mantelpiece.

I think there was nothing in the room which I did not examine carefully, but I did not sit there; I preferred the front room.

It was an immense relief when I saw Quarles and another man, the agent, come through the gate.

It was between eight and nine, and I retired to the basement to be out of the way. The agent stayed about half an hour, and they were chiefly in the haunted room together.

"I sincerely hope your report will set at rest this silly idea that the house is haunted," I heard the agent say as they came down to the hall. "When my client returns he will be pretty mad about it."

"When does he return?" asked Quarles.

"I don't know. I haven't had a line from him since he went away, but the sum I have received for him in rent doesn't amount to much, I can tell you."

I expected to find the professor rather ill-tempered at my interference, but I found him inclined to raillery.

"Are you hunting a murderer or a ghost, Wigan?" he asked.

"I am not quite sure, but I think at the back of my mind there is an idea to keep you out of the clutches of the subtle personality of whom you are afraid. Come up to the haunted room; we will talk there, but it must be in whispers. If I have had any success it is believed that you are in this house alone to-night."

"A foolish old man alone, eh?"

"In this instance I am inclined to answer yes."

"You are quite right to say exactly what you think," he returned.

"Have you considered the possibility that some one is trading on your known enthusiasm for psychological research?" I asked.

"Surely you do not mean Randall?"

"No, but he may have been used as a tool. Frankly now, would you have undertaken this business just at the present time had it not been for Dr. Randall?"

"Probably not."

"So if you are being deceived it is being managed very subtly."

"You are full of supposition. Let us get to work. You speak in your letter of an experience you had last night. What was it?"

"You will say no doubt that my fear of the supernatural got the better of me."

I told him the story of the looking-glass as we stood in front of it, our two faces looking out at us dimly.

"Come away from it now, Wigan," he said when I had finished. "Burroughs thought you had fallen asleep, did he? You are convinced you were not dreaming, I presume?"

"At the time I confess Burroughs rather shook my faith in myself, but during the day I have become certain that I did not sleep."

Sitting on the other side of the bed—Quarles was very particular where he sat in the room—he questioned me closely about the actions of the shadows, and I answered him as well as I could. Only a very vague picture was in my mind.

"It may astonish you to know, Wigan, that it was only your note this morning which brought me to this house at all to-night, I 'phoned to you at least a dozen times yesterday."

"Why?"

"I was afraid of to-night. Perhaps for the time being I have lost my grip a little on account of my nervous condition. I have had a long talk with Dr. Bates, and he tried to persuade me to give up the idea of spending a night here alone. He was rather doubtful about a supernatural solution to the mystery. Then I didn't like the agent when I went to him to arrange about the key. I shouldn't have entered the house with him to-night had I not known you were here."

"Anything else?" I asked.

"Always that strong presentiment of danger," he answered. "Were these hangings on the bed last night?"

"It was exactly as you see it now."

"The agent said the mattress and blankets had been put here for my convenience."

"Did he say when they were put here?"

"I thought he meant to-day," said Quarles.

"No one has entered the house to-day," I answered.

"Yet, if Greaves was murdered, some one must have gained access to this room somehow, in spite of the locked door and fastened window."

"You have dropped the idea of the supernatural, then?"

"I am keeping an open mind."

"Shall we give it up and go, Professor?"

"Certainly not. I am supposed to be alone in the house, so we will await events. On the other side of that wall where the glass hangs is No. 5, I suppose?"

"Yes."

"That is the boarding-house. Keep still a minute while I get an idea of the furniture against this opposite wall. Randall said a man and his four daughters lived at No. 9, didn't he?"

I whispered an affirmative, and could dimly see the professor going slowly along the wall. He began tapping things, apparently with a pocket knife.

I warned him not to make a noise.

"I am known to be here," he answered, coming back to me. "A man who undertakes to investigate the supernatural would be expected to take precautions that no tricks were likely to be played upon him. It would be suspicious if I didn't make a little noise. Now we will settle ourselves. I shall lie on the bed. You move a chair under that glass and sit there. I have an electric torch with me. Don't fall asleep to-night, Wigan."

"I didn't last night," I answered.

After that we were silent, and the vigil began. In one way it was a repetition of the previous night. I lost count of time, and had sudden desires to move, but managed to control them.

Certainly I did not sleep, and I fought successfully against the hypnotic influence which silence and darkness exert. Not a sound of movement came from Quarles, not a murmur from the world outside.

More than once I wanted to ask the professor whether he was all right, but did not do so.

It seemed that this utter silence had lasted for hours, when it was broken, not suddenly, but gradually. It was not a sound so much as a movement which broke it. Some one or something was near us. At first it did not seem to be in the room, but as if it were trying to get in. I could not tell where it was, but for a time it was outside, and then just as certainly I knew that it was in.

I cannot say positively that I heard a footfall on the carpet, but I think I did, and then came an unmistakable sound; the swish of the bed hangings suddenly drawn back.

"Quarles!"

Whether I shouted his name or whispered it, I do not know, but the next moment a ray from the electric torch cut the darkness like a long sword.

There was a low, almost inarticulate cry, then a light thud upon the floor—so light it might have been some clothes falling from the bed.

"Don't move, Wigan!" Quarles said, and a second afterwards he fired—downwards it must have been, although he had warned me to keep still, in case he should hit me.

There was an unearthly yell, and something rushed past my feet—a man on all fours, a little man, a—

"The glass, Wigan! Quick!"

I sprang up. For just an instant I saw my own reflection, then it was gone; instead, I was looking into a luminous mist out of which there suddenly flashed a face looking into mine.

I saw it quite clearly, and then it went as quickly as it had come. It appeared to have been jerked away.

"Look!"

Quarles was behind me, and in the glass, almost as I had seen them last night, were the shadows, only now they struggled and twisted first; it was afterwards that one lay still across the bed.

"An ape, Wigan!" Quarles said excitedly. "An ape, trained to imitate, and now—did some one look through the glass?"

"Yes."

"Was it Dr. Randall?"

Directly he asked the question I knew that it was the doctor's face which had been there.

"The subtle personality, Wigan."

"When did you guess?"

"I didn't guess—I didn't think it possible. Bates' disbelief in the supernatural made me a little suspicious, but I didn't think it possible. To-night—that ape—the whole plot—I could only think of Randall. There was no one else."

We left the house at once, both of us in an excited state.

The constable I had on special duty soon had several others with him, and before dawn No. 5 Manleigh Road was raided.

It was only a garbled statement which got into the papers, and probably the whole truth will never be known; but I gradually gathered the main facts, partly from the doctor's confederates, partly from some of his victims.

Dr. Randall, posing as a nerve specialist, and fully qualified to do so, had lived a double life. As a doctor he was respected and was fairly successful; as the head and organizer of a small army of miscreants he had been eminent for years.

Under the guise of a respectable boarding-house, No. 5 had been used as the headquarters of the gang, and the operations had been so widespread, so all-embracing in the field of crime, that after the raid many mysteries which the police had failed to unravel were credited to Randall. Many of these he could have had nothing to do with, but he had quite enough to answer for. He seems to have exercised a kind of terrorism over his subordinates, or he would surely have been betrayed before.

Exactly at what point my investigations had jeopardized his secret I could not find out, but he evidently thought it was in danger, and believing Quarles was responsible, he determined to get rid of him.

I was told that he had made two attempts upon his life before the night he was introduced to him in the Temple. That night Quarles was followed when he left the Temple, and, as we know, was shot at in Savoy Street.

This attempt failing, the doctor, who had already asked Quarles to dinner on the following night as an extra precaution, determined to use a method which had already proved successful.

Quarles's enthusiasm for psychological research could hardly fail to tempt him into the trap.

No. 7 Manleigh Road belonged to a man in the doctor's employment. It had been prepared for eventualities some time before—probably tragedies had occurred in the house which had never been heard of. The house agent was one of the gang, and when, either by mistake or because he could not help himself without causing undesirable comment, he let the house to the young married couple, they were frightened away. The house was then let to Greaves, a man who had become a danger to the doctor, and in due course he was found dead in his bed.

Between the fireplace of the haunted room and that of the corresponding room in No. 5 part of the chimney wall had been removed, so that there was sufficient space for the ape to get from one room to the other.

This ape, some four feet in height, was exceedingly powerful and more than usually imitative, but was not naturally vicious. Any action done in its presence the animal would be certain to repeat at the first opportunity; but having done so, it did not repeat it again unless the action was performed again. The action of strangling a man in his sleep by means of a cord was performed before the ape, and afterwards the animal was allowed to steal through the hole in the chimney. The result was that Greaves was found dead.

It was intended that Quarles should die in a like manner, and special pains were taken with the ape to insure success. The action was performed before the animal in every detail more than once, and it was kept in strict confinement until the right moment came.

The ape was out of my sight, but I chanced to see the imitation in progress on the Thursday night through the glass, which had unaccountably been left open for some minutes after it had been tried to see that it was in working order. I saw only dimly because the imitation was being done by the light of a single candle, and that shaded as much as possible, to suggest to the ape the gloomy conditions of the room in which it was to repeat its lesson. Let into the wall of the room in the boarding-house there was a glass backing on to the one in the haunted room. A small handle swung aside the back, which was common to both, and the looking-glass became a window from one room to the other.

When he fired Quarles evidently hit the ape. Mad with pain, the animal dashed back through the hole in the chimney and attacked the doctor, who was probably taken entirely unawares, as he was looking through the glass to see what the revolver shot might mean.

The ape went through its part of the performance, and the doctor fell a victim to his own diabolical ingenuity. The wounded animal had to be shot before any one could get near the body.

Some people have declared that Dr. Randall was a madman, but I think
Quarles' answer hit the truth.

"Of course, in a sense, all criminals are mad," he said, "but Randall was the sanest criminal I ever came in contact with."